Finding Life Outside the Kingdom of Heaven
by CJ Timm
Summary: This story revolves around the character of the Hospitaler, Balian's mentor. Instead of marching with Guy he stays behind with Balian so we find out who he really was and what happened to him. This is the prologue of a multi-chapter story
1. Prologue: setting the stage

Prologue: defender of the Defender

The contrast between the two knights on the stone wall was evident to any who saw them, even those who looked from across the field of battle. The Defender of Jerusalem foremost in gold and bright blue surcoat and his advisor in black with a plain white cross dominating his, in support. The pair waited with their ramshackle army to defend the city against perhaps the greatest force ever assembled in the land. The Defender acting as the heart of the city's defense and the other acting in the same capacity for the uncertain man.

They called him the Hospitaler. Simply that. He was the shadowy mentor and defender of Balian of Ibelin, now the Defender of Jerusalem. He served quietly and in the shadows as he had for Balian's father Godfrey.

But he had a name.

James Stewart was the son of a minor nobleman from Scotland, Sir James actually, who had taken a vow to follow God and joined the Knights Hospitaler to serve in the defense of the Holy Lands. But defend from whom? The Saracens he understood. They followed their legendary leader Saladin and their convictions of who the true God was.

The Hospitaler didn't fault them for their devotion; instead he tried to help them see the truth of who the true, Living God really was. No, he found himself at odds more often then not with those who wore a cross as well and claimed to follow Jesus Christ. No, it was the Knights Templar who schemed and fought to build not the Kingdom of Heaven but their own legacy.

When Guy de Lusignan manipulated his way to the throne on the death of the Leper King, Baldwin the IV, he used the Templars to start a war with the Saracens. Seeking to prove his valor, Guy led the mighty army of the Holy Land to slaughter, a testimony to folly and pride.

If the Hospitaler had gone, as the Order of Knights Hospitaler had, he would be lying dead under the hot middle-eastern sun too.

Standing on the wall with Balian the thought caused him to shudder despite the warmth of the day and heat caused by his armor. Then the idea of the others, friends and colleagues he'd known for years, lying dead caused him to shift uncomfortably as he looked down at his black surcoat.

Suddenly his own physical comfort meant nothing to him and he said a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing him to continue to be used and serve in this unique way.

James had defied the command to march and instead stayed behind in Jerusalem. By rights he should not even be wearing the device of the Knights Hospitaler but no one was around to enforce it. Balian certainly wouldn't. He understood what it meant to be torn and so said nothing about it to his friend. James owed this enigmatic leader a debt. Yet that wasn't the reason he'd turned his back on his vows and defied his Order.

Involuntarily he looked back over his shoulder towards the palace in the center of the city of Jerusalem. He wondered if she were looking for him as he sought a glance of her.

It had all happened so suddenly and so innocently.

As Balian had become closer with Queen Sibylla, James had by default spent more time among her retinue. It hadn't happened until the third meeting. James had been bored and somewhat bothered by Balian's interest in a married woman despite her unfortunate circumstances. His nerves and sensibilities had been raw with the thought, and then, as if a cool breeze had blown in off of the Mediterranean Sea he saw her.

Thick black hair cascaded down her back despite the head covering she wore. Large, smoky brown eyes were accentuated by the veil she had covering her olive hued face. Despite the coverings, he knew she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He stared at her though he knew he shouldn't. Something drew him. The revulsion at his thoughts soon gave way to embarrassment at his inability not to stare. But then a new emotion crashed in-the ecstasy of her returned stare.

Their eyes locked across the room of chattering servants and retainers and he began to feel something he'd never experienced. Later he found out her name was Jamila, servant to Queen Sibylla. An appropriate name he remembered thinking for it meant beautiful. Suddenly, thoughts of this woman filled his mind and he desired to get to know her. The problem was not her interest, after his, what he thought were, discrete inquiries he found out in no uncertain terms she had been asking about him. The problem was her faith for she was an infidel.

That was a big problem for a member of the Order of Knights Hospitaler.

Despite his efforts to stay away from her, from what he knew he should do, he couldn't. And always she was there, watching him, inviting him to cast off restraint.

Finally his heart overcame his intellect and he dove in. Every day since he's thanked God for the decision he'd made even as he stood looking at Saladin's army and an uncertain future.

Jamila was light and life itself and as Balian and Sibylla's unlikely relationship grew so too did that of the stoic Hospitaler and the Saracen servant. Far from disapproving, those around them not only encouraged but embraced the relationship, as if it were a wonderful poem of how Europe and the Middle East could peacefully co-exist after so much strife.

That's not how his Order saw it.

One day a leader of the Hospitalers saw the pair walking together and not too subtly rebuked James for his poor judgment, forbidding him from seeing her. He'd tried, he really had, and his resolve had lasted a whole two days. During that time, despite the disdain of those he followed, he felt God smiled on the relationship.

But then Guy had taken over as king and he and his Templars had provoked a war with Saladin. Despite the council of his leaders Guy, determined to prove himself, prepared to march out with the whole array of Jerusalem to fight the canny Saracen leader. All knew it was a fool's errand. They would be destroyed and Jerusalem left undefended but duty superceded common sense and so they marched.

Duty drove James as well and he decided to stay.

Balian and his men would not leave so he felt led to stay with his young charge, continuing to watch over him. But more strongly, he felt led to stay and defend Jamila.

But what could he do? He was but one knight. In the end, after a night without sleep, he determined he could do his duty and fulfill his oath to defend the helpless.

The others in his Order had called him a coward, spit on him and worse but he'd stood and took it, even feeling he deserved it in many ways. But James Stewart held his ground. As they'd marched off the head of the Hospitalers in Jerusalem had called back that his expulsion would happen upon their return.

That never happened.

So James stood on the ramparts of the city, waiting for Saladin's mighty array to destroy them, shifting uncomfortably wearing a symbol he no longer felt he deserved. While he stood beside Balian, in defiance of his Order, standing beside him was Malcolm MacGregor, his sergeant-at-arms, in defiance of his orders.

Malcolm had served James' father and when James left to go on crusade Malcolm had followed him, showing himself to be adept with any form of weapon. The short, stocky man with wavy dark hair had proven himself to be not only loyal but also an excellent fighter so was promoted to Sergeant. When the Knights Hospitalers had marched off James had ordered Malcolm to accompany the body of soldiers so as to not share his fate but the faithful Scotsman had told him what he could do with his command in a none too Christian fashion. So he too waited for the attack.

The onslaught of Saladin up until that point had been severe. Massive ballista and catapults battered away at the walls while the defenders tried to stay out of the path of stone and burning missiles.

If the attackers had their choice, they could have stood back and battered the city into dust from a distance. But they couldn't. The Saracen leader had only a limited supply of water for his massive army so had to send them forward in an attempt to overwhelm the defenders.

That should have been easy since the army of Jerusalem had been decimated and few remained. But Balian, now acting as marshal and leader of the remnant had not only rallied the people but inspired them to unify in the defense of the common good. James remembered the speech that he had given days earlier, when all seemed lost, that caused men to believe again as they'd never done under Guy or the Leper King who preceded him. He'd given the people hope. The Hospitaler had never been prouder of his young pupil and knew his father, Godfrey, would have been proud too.

So when the might of Saladin charged they were met not only with a wall of stone that encircled the city but a wall of resolve that would not break. Time and again he threw his men and time and again they were pushed back. In the interim, the machines of war would batter away.

The defenders began to not only hope, but believe, they could hold out until late one day, Saladin's ballista found a weak point in the wall, a former gate that had been bricked over, and concentrated their fire on it. Under relentless battering the wall collapsed leaving a significant breach just as the sun dropped below the horizon. The next morning, there would be nothing to hold back the might of the Saracens.

Both sides paused to catch their collective breath giving a time of respite. James went to Jamila, anticipating it being the last time he'd see her. To his total shock she desired to marry him. The thought had entered his mind, especially after his Order had essentially defrocked him, but at this time and in this manner? What of their divergent beliefs? That was no matter either. Jamila had been listening to James' talk about Jesus and studying the man so desired to convert to Christianity.

It was all so sudden, like a dream.

Yet after the Bishop of Jerusalem interviewed the young woman and attested to her sincerity he gave his blessing. It was a small ceremony though not hastily done. It needed to be done right since the joining was to last through eternity. Balian and Sibylla attended and each seemed to look at the other in a different way after the simple, yet elegant ceremony.

There was no time for a honeymoon, only a few hours alone together before James left to join the others at the breach. He kissed her goodbye, held her in a tight embrace basking in the smell of her perfume, committing every part of her to memory before leaving, sure he'd never see her again this side of heaven.

But miraculously, the defenders held. Fighting side-by-side in the breach Balian, James and the others held the crashing Saracen tidal wave at bay time after time. Finally, tired of the killing, Saladin offered terms and Balian accepted. The defenders would be allowed to leave with the honors of war and the Christians allowed to come with them.

Hand-in-hand, the Hospitaler, James Stuart, once again Sir James, and his new bride Jamila left the city of Jerusalem and the Holy Land, happy never to see that dusty, hot troubled land again. Their final destination was to be Scotland, returning to his ancestral home and ultimately, a quiet life of peace.


	2. Chapter 1: Reality

Chapter 1 Reality

It had started out innocently enough for James Stewart, no longer the Hospitaler but a simple minor Scottish nobleman quietly living out his life as Sir James.

An offer had come from the Earl of Durham for the purchase of his property. Few resisted the will of the powerful aristocrat from the north of England who had extensive land holdings and with it influence in the borders region of Scotland.

But how could he sell?

In the span of the land, even by humble Scottish standards, it wasn't much. Yet this was his family's land, going back generations. They'd sweat and bled as a family to make it what it was today. To sell would dishonor his heritage, go against his blood and fly in the face of everything he stood for.

Then there was the recent history.

After the fall of Jerusalem, James and his new wife Jamila had made their way back to their new home. It had taken over six hard months to reach the modest estate near Jedburgh. The distance had been expected but the difficulties he hadn't. All along the way they'd encountered a racism that had shocked him.

In hindsight it shouldn't have.

His time in the Middle East, where Christian and Saracen mixed freely had dulled him to the realities of what Europeans were like. Yet the difficulties did not drive a wedge between them but made them draw closer together in oneness. Then they'd reached Scotland where his family was known and the people more accepting. It was as if they'd found a new slice of heaven. Only strengthening their tie to the land had been the birth of a child, a beautiful girl they named Rebekah in tribute to both of their heritages. Rebekah was a name respected in both their cultures.

Three years later the lively little girl was the center of their universe and a reminder of what's possible for those who believe and trust.

No, there was no way he could sell.

Another offer, more generous then the first arrived by the same envoy from the south, an emissary who reminded James of a thinner version of a Templar Knight named Reynald who had caused nothing but troubles. But his mind was made up so James refused.

The next offer was different then the other two. The tone of the agent from the Earl changed from respectful to curt and threatening. He began to speak not of more gold for the sale but rather of the risk to him and his family if he continued to turn down the powerful nobleman. Rather then be cowed into submission that got James' hot Scottish blood boiling and taking the protesting messenger by the scruff of the neck he threw him off the property.

A week later the emissary from the Earl of Durham returned with a score of soldiers wearing the Earl's device on their surcoats.

James sent Malcolm to rouse the sheriff in Jedburgh and get his men, fearing things were about to turn violent. Strangely, the encroachers didn't enter onto his property, rather being content to stand off and wait.

A sick feeling came over James, like the days he'd sat in Jerusalem and watched the schemes and intrigues of man work to thwart God's will. He began to pray fervently, as he hadn't done in a long time.

The sheriff, a man he knew on a friendly basis, arrived with two of his men. Strangely, he did not greet his neighbor but instead motioned for the Earl's men to come forward.

"What's this all about Donkeld?" James asked the man cautiously.

The sheriff didn't return the man's gaze but instead unrolled a scroll he pulled from a leather satchel.

"Sir James Stewart of Jedburgh, you are accused of blaspheming God by harboring infidels on your property," the sheriff read, not looking up.

James looked from the sheriff to the Earl's agent who had a wicked grin on his thin face.

"What…what do you mean by this?" the stunned former Hospitaler stammered. "I have served God my whole life and all here are followers of The Way."

"The writ is against your wife and child."

The cold statement chilled James to the bone. "You can't be serious," he whispered.

"Sheriff, execute your duty and let's move on," the man from the south declared crisply.

James' blood turned from cold to boiling in less then a second. "I see what's going on here!" he said hotly. You're using this ploy to get my land. You'll not get away with it. Donkeld, you know Jamila," he implored the nervous sheriff, she converted to Christianity and was approved by the Bishop of Jerusalem himself before we were married."

"And you can prove it?" the heavy set man asked nervously, never looking at the one he spoke too.

"Well, no," James admitted," I didn't think it necessary. It was before God."

"And what of your oath to serve God?" the sheriff continued, looking at the servant of the Earl who nodded. "You left the Order of the Knights Hospitaler under a cloud of suspicion I understand."

"Yes, that's true, I did." James admitted, his mind swimming, seeking some solution for the coming storm he felt. "But there was never an opportunity to make things right. Besides, that has nothing to do with this situation."

"Oh but it has everything to do with it, my dear sir," the emissary almost purred, cutting off the sheriff who was more then happy to shrink back. "You say you serve God, yet you left your Order. You say there are no infidels here yet can give no proof of the woman you have taken is anything other than a filthy blasphemer."

"Are ye daft man?" Malcolm scoffed, stepping forward. "My lord served God for many years in the Order and still serves him. You need not be in any group to do so. And he did not take her as you crudely imply, he married her, with the bishop's blessing I might add." The stocky man's eyed narrowed as he looked from the factor of the Earl to the sheriff. "There be no infidels here unless you count these sassanachs from the south!"

A mailed glove from one of the Duke's men punched the stocky man in the mouth, drawing blood. Enraged, Malcolm fought back laying the soldier out with one thunderous punch. Other soldiers quickly jumped in beating the Scotsman. James leapt into the fray to help his friend, dispatching two in short order. Several of James tenants came running to help their master but were kept at bay at the point of the sword and spear.

James called desperately for the sheriff to help but the man sat on his horse, saying and doing nothing as more of the Earl's men entered the fray. With no help the pair were finally pummeled to the ground then quickly tied up.

The emissary sat on his stallion with an amused look upon his thin face. "What more proof of guilt do you need sheriff?" he asked rhetorically. Turning to a group of his men he ordered, "Bring the infidels into the open."

Jamila and Rebekah were roughly dragged from the house. Terrified, both cried in confusion, especially when they saw James and Malcolm tied and held. Both husband and wife strained to comfort each other and their daughter but all were tightly held.

With a bored wave of the emissary's velvet gloved hand Jamila and Rebekah were taken to a small, wooden storage hut off the side of the main compound and the door barred. The hard-faced man leaned down to whisper to one of the soldiers attending him. Then to the horror of the two trussed men, several of the Earl's soldiers lit torches and approached the hut.

"What are you doing?" James cried out in fear.

"This is worse then we had expected!" the emissary declared with a fake air of solemnity. "He has been bewitched and that can only have been done by an infidel who can control one such as this misguided soul," the man stated as the sheriff shrunk back from the scene, ceding by his silence all authority in the situation. "There is only one sentence befitting this circumstance. Death by fire."

"NO!" James screamed, straining desperately against the bonds and two men holding him tight, forcing two more men to join in subduing him. Throwing pride and ego aside he yelled, "I'll do it, I'll sell. Spare them please!"

"Too late," the Englishman replied smugly. "We've seen the evidence and the king's justice demands a response."

"Take it, take the property! I want no gold. We'll leave, you can have it. We'll leave the country even," a terrified James shrieked. "Just please, for the love of God, don't do this!"

"For the love of God? That's why we do this," the man responded coldly. Burn it!"

That was the last thing James heard or saw. The pommel of a sword crashed down on the back of his head and he fell into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 2: Preparations

Chapter 2-Preparations

Riding south through the early morning Scottish mist, a solemn looking knight wearing the surcoat of a Knight Hospitaler leads a column made up of a sergeant and six men-at-arms. Despite the stark white cross on black tunic worn over his gleaming armor and great sword hanging ready from a leather scabbard the most distinct feature on the man are his sad blue eyes. Even in the early morning mist a casual observer could see the haunting echo of some past hurt that has manifest itself to the man's very soul. Those he'd passed, recognizing the emblem, would chalk it up to some of the horrible experiences that these men faced on crusade.

But in this man's case they would be wrong

James Stewart rode south on a new crusade, a crusade of revenge. He was once more the nameless Hospitaler he'd been years earlier, a shadowy figure people wondered about and never really knew. But he was different then before. No longer benign, the man now was very dangerous.

For three years he'd thought of nothing other then seeking vengeance for the murder of his wife and daughter. The building hate had been his constant companion, driving him to this moment, giving warmth even in the depth of winter's past. Now sustaining him, without it he would have taken his life in the grief of his memories.

When James had regained consciousness after that terrible event his first thought had been the scene etched in his memory was only a nightmare. But the bumping of the cart he rode in pushed that thought from his mind.

He knew what had happened but couldn't bring himself to admit it.

Hands tightly bound, his head throbbed from the blow he'd received, though he didn't know how long ago that had been. He opened his eyes and immediately knew they were moving south. As they adjusted he saw a bound Malcolm in the cart lying beside him. Face dirty and bruised yet with a look of concern in his eyes as he looked at his master.

"Jamila..Rebekah…," James asked hesitantly.

"Are with the Lord now," Malcolm replied. Choking out the words the burly fighter broke into tears.

And James Stewart's heart left him that moment.

The pair were being taken after the seizure of James' land and murder of his family as slaves to work in the Earl of Durham's mines. With the sanction of the paid-off sheriff of Jedburgh the rightful owner would simple disappear from the land to never return. His property then passed to the Duke and a Factor would be instilled to add to the mighty nobleman's holdings in the area. This parcel completed a vision he had for future use and accumulation of wealth. The envoy of the Duke had been very thorough in his execution.

None of this mattered anymore to James Stewart. Only one thought kept him from leaping over the side of the cart and having the life crushed out of him by its wheels.

Revenge.

He would repay those who were involved with this heinous crime in kind. Then he could die. In many ways the man who had once been so full of life longed for it.

But not yet.

The first order of business was to escape. That proved to be easier then expected. The third night, after finally being able to work his way out of his bonds, with the guards drinking and distracted camping on the Earl's extensive property, James and Malcolm slipped into the night.

For several weeks they hid out by day and moved by night unsure if they were being pursued or not. Finally, the pair made it to the coast of England. Already a plan had been formed in James' quick mind. It would take time, but he was a patient man.

The pair found work on a merchant ship heading for Normandy so after an uneventful trip they landed on the shore of France. From there they traveled to the village where their old friend Balian lived.

Despite trying to live a life of anonymity, Balian had become quite prosperous and well-known in the area. The Defender of Jerusalem now sat as a virtual nobleman in the area. Upon the pair's arrival, Sibylla had begun to chide the man for not writing to let them know of their arrival but stopped in mid-sentence. The eyes of their old friend told her something had gone seriously wrong. James ended up collapsing in the arms of his former pupil and wept uncontrollably for several hours.

The pair talked alone long into the night.

The next day the heart-broken man slept until past mid-day but when he presented himself in the Great Room of Balian's estate he seemed renewed. Truly, no one saw him weep again and he had the same vigor and spirit that those who'd known him in the Holy Land had come to expect.

But the eyes gave away the reality of his situation.

It took two years for James to gather the information and men he needed who would follow him on this new quest. Besides Malcolm, six others would ride with him, each a man whose life James had either saved or changed in the past. Each knew it was a desperate situation but each also knew they could not live with themselves if they let this opportunity to help the man who meant so much to them slip by. Theirs was a bond that had developed through fire and sword and each would go to the very end.

Balian never tried to talk James out of his quest. He knew the pain of loss himself and the need to correct wrongs. Sibylla, on the other hand, tried everything she could to steer their friend off this fatal course. She felt that nothing good would come of it, only further pain.

But the determined man could not be dissuaded. So finally, when spring arrived, the day had come to depart. Balian had given him several bags of gold coins to assist along the way and waited to say goodbye. Malcolm, resuming his old role as Sergeant-at-Arms, had the small force packed and ready to leave. Each stood before their horses, prepared to finally set out. Sibylla and the others of the household turned out to say goodbye to their guests. They only waited for the man of the hour.

The sound of heavy boots clumping on the wooden floor beyond the door signaled he was about to quit the house. The crowd, Malcolm included, was shocked when they saw James Stewart enter into the morning sunlight again wearing the simple black surcoat with white cross of the Knights Hospitalers.

"Does this signal a change of heart and direction for you?" Balian questioned with a sense of hope. "Are you to rejoin your Order and return to the Holy Lands?"

"No, I have taken a new vow before God and so wear these colors in recognition of that," James replied without emotion.

Sibylla opened her mouth to speak but Balian silenced her with a raised hand. As dearly as he loved his wife she didn't understand what the man she cared deeply about was going through. He remembered his own quest to right a wrong not so many years ago. Though the circumstances had been different the need was the same.

"And you will not be dissuaded?" Balian asked quietly.

"No, my course is set," James responded with conviction. "I begin a new crusade, a crusade of justice."


	4. Chapter 3: Course of action

Chapter 3- "Course of Action"

The small party traveled swiftly to the coast and with the gold Balian had provided easily found passage to Perth in Scotland.

The plan was to approach Jedburgh from the north and begin their course of action from there. Until then, the men-at-arms, all former soldiers who had served in the Holy Lands chatted idly as warriors are apt to do to kill time. But as they drew closer, though nothing was said, a somber air fell over the group. First Malcolm became quiet then the others fell in line. James who had said little since landing in Scotland became even grimmer, if that were possible.

They moved into position at the former Stewart estate in the pre-dawn hours. A rooster crowed to announce the new day as the sun rose above the horizon. A flag bearing the Earl's device hung limp in the still air of the courtyard of the estate. James tried to keep his eyes off the overgrown black spot that now was masked with weeds in the compound where the storage hut had once stood. He remembered the words he'd heard, the look of fear in the eyes of his beloved and his inability to protect them. The pain of loss was great but the humiliation of powerlessly having to watch it happen cut him even deeper.

There would be justice.

Waving a mailed glove the band sprang into action. In short order they secured the property but in reality there was no effort required. There were no soldiers or guards on duty. No one stirred through the early morning mist.

Could it be an ambush? James wonder if by some unknown force the Earl's men knew they were coming and were now lying in wait.

With four men covering the approaches, the Hospitaler, Malcolm and the two remaining soldiers carefully approached the house, swords draw, tension thick.

The four armed men exploded into the house through the front door, weapons ready. They found instead of armed fighters a slight, pale, middle-aged man in nightshirt and a similarly dressed woman. She screamed in terror and the man almost fell over in equal fright.

"Search the house," James ordered as Malcolm watched the stunned pair and the others moved with precision.

"Please," the woman cried, "don't harm our children, for the love of God!"

The words caused James Stewart to freeze.

"Hold," he yelled to his men who instantly obeyed.

"Take whatever you want sir," the frightened man offered finding his voice. "We will offer no resistance, but just spare our children."

"Who are you?" James demanded.

"I…I am William Donnachie, Factor of the Earl of Durham," the man responded with a sense of confusion in his voice. "This is my family."

"And why are you here?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. I'm the Factor and so serve my master by looking after his holdings in this shire."

"What of the people here before?" James asked pointedly.

"I don't know what you mean," the Factor responded uncertainly. "The Earl's emissary instructed me to move here and take over the running of his estates in this shire. I follow his orders as do all the Earl's men. The place was empty when we arrived."

James wanted to scream, to run the cowering man before him through, to destroy the home which still held many of his furnishings. But he couldn't. As if some unseen force held him back, he couldn't.

Without a word he began to walk to where he knew the sleeping chambers were in the home.

The woman began to cry out but Malcolm calmed her, knowing his master meant no harm.

The tormented Hospitaler gently opened the door and saw three children huddled together in the corner of the room, eyes as round as saucers. The man's knees nearly buckled and he had to support himself on the door frame as he recalled his last time in the room, on a morning similar to this.

Still not saying a word, James tried to show the children he meant no harm by returning his sword to its scabbard. He then rummaged through the room until he found what he sought. He didn't know how he would after so long but he did. It was as if an unseen force drove him.

Carefully James pulled from a niche in the wall a small embroidered picture of a thistle, a sampler that Jamila and Rebekah had been working on together. His eyes filled with tears and he began to sob until he felt a small hand in his causing him to look down upon a fragile, blue-eyed girl standing beside him, her tiny hand clutching his.

"You miss her, don't you?" the girl asked quietly.

"More than anything in the world," James admitted, feeling a flicker of emotion beyond pain and rage, not stopping to wonder how this young child could know. "Thank you."

The girl gave him a hug then skipped back to her siblings in the corner.

With an apology and a handful of gold coins, James and his troop departed from his ancestral home leaving behind a confused William Donnachie and family who could do no more then shake his head at the bizarre episode that happened that morning.

For James Stewart, he knew he would never return to this place again. It was now the home of another through no devices of his own and he would honor that. The Hospitaler knew what it meant to be forcibly ejected and would suffer no others to face that fate. Despite this, he was as confused as the man he'd nearly killed and even more so when he looked back and saw the girl, the youngest in the home, waving to him.

She knew, but how could she?

In the end, he didn't care. He clutched the sampler close to his heart and remembered for the first time since that horribly day something pleasant.

"Well that turned out differently then expected," Malcolm deadpanned, though he hated to break his master's moment of peace. "What are we going to do now?"

"We go to Jedburgh to get some answers."

Originally James had intended to ride into town, kill Donkeld the sheriff, and then turn south to England but now he had some questions he wanted answered first. His neat, fatalistic plan seemed to be becoming unraveled.

The group traveled covertly in the still early morning to the town and made their way to one of the churches. With Malcolm organizing the men into a defensive formation James moved quietly up to the priest who worked unaware in his vegetable garden.

"Father Callum."

The man of God nearly jumped out of his robes in shock. The shock doubled when he turned around and saw who spoke to him.

"James Stewart," he said incredulously, "I thought you were dead." Then the priest surprised his visitor by embracing him and beginning to openly weep. "Come inside," he instructed composing himself. "Better to not take the chance of being seen."

The pair went inside with James motioning Malcolm it was okay. Once within the parlor of the rectory the priest embraced the man. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I didn't know…if I had…I couldn't believe it….it cut me deeply," the white-haired priest said between sobs.

The priest's honest admission and genuine pain caused a reaction in James he'd not experienced in some time. He felt sorry for the old man. But the feeling lasted but a moment then was gone, pushed out by the purpose of the visit. He sought answers.

"Where is Donkeld?" James asked menacingly.

"Dead." Father Callum's words shocked the man. "He died a year to the day after his participation in that heinous act. On the anniversary he was taken by a seizure and died instantly. It was God's judgment for his weakness," the man added, crossing himself.

"What do you mean?"

"He came to me, with the emissary of the Earl, and asked about your wife's beliefs. I told them she was a faithful daughter of the church." The statement caused James to start but the admission gave him a moment of relief from his grief. "They pressed me, called her an infidel but I said that it was preposterous. Then they left. I knew something was amiss but I did nothing. I trusted the sheriff though I knew the Earl's man was up to no good."

"Then what?" James asked in barely a whisper.

"The party rode back into the town later in the day. The emissary seemed well pleased with himself and the English soldiers he'd brought were in high spirits. But Donkeld was uneasy. He sought a time of confession where he told of his role in the barbarous act."

The troubled Hospitaler listened to the priest then hung his head, saying nothing for several minutes. The room was silent, neither spoke.

"Were they buried?" James asked his voice strained.

"Yes," Father Callum confirmed, "I took care of that though with some difficulty." A look from James bid him go further. "The earl's emissary wanted it to look like you left so I had to do it in secret."

"Take me there, please."

"We must move carefully. A few days after it happened a herald rode into the town announcing that you had committed some crime in the south and were now an outlaw. None believed it, since word had already spread of what happened and the people knew your character. Still, you should be careful since a reward was posted on your head."

With Malcolm and the men hidden and standing watch the pair moved to a covered corner of the parish cemetery. Before they reached it, as if pulled by some unseen force, James ran to a spot he knew instinctively held his family. Falling to his knees he began to sob uncontrollably. Vision blurry from tears he fell to his face and pounded the soft turf in anger, pain and, strangely, relief. His wife and daughter were now safe in the hands of God, where no harm could ever come to them again. They now resided in the true Kingdom of Heaven with the King of Kings.

Father Callum stood off and let the broken man have some time alone to process everything that had happened. The priest prayed silently for the man who had served faithfully and had been repaid in such a terrible way. Many days he'd asked God why and never received an answer. That was the journey of faith, he reminded himself. God worked in mysterious ways he knew and even now was working out something good from what man had designed for evil. But seeing this man, shoulders heaving, sobs coming through the green turf, caused him great pain.

James eventually composed himself and stood up. Bowing his head he said a silent prayer then turned away from the graves. He would never return here again.

"So now what?" Father Callum asked. Looking pointedly at the Hospitaler's surcoat he asked hopefully, "Have you renewed your vows and returned to the Order?"

"I have not returned to the Order, though I have taken a vow before God," James responded coldly.

The priest didn't ask for he'd expected as much but had hoped for the contrary. "I ask no more of you and do not wish to know. But I will be praying for you, that you will find God in all of this and find peace and joy. I will speak to no one about your visit. Know my home is always open to you. May the Lord direct your path James Stewart."

With that the elderly priest turned around and walked back towards his cottage.

Malcolm came out of the bushes he'd been observing the scene from. "A good man," he observed. The statement was affirmed by the nod of James's head.

"So where to now sir?" the faithful servant asked.

"South."


	5. Chapter 4: Temperament

Chapter 4 -temperament

"Out of the coach there missy, if you please!" The sneer on the pockmarked face of the ugly man facing the elegant young woman showed no sign of respect but did reveal a certain hunger.

Lady Bronwyn Fitzralph had not quite caught the look. The arrogance of her personality couldn't allow her to realize the danger she faced.

"Do you KNOW who I am?" the daughter of the Baron of Heddon demanded haughtily, flipping her golden blonde hair. "Do you know who my father is Sirrah? Begone with you, take this purse and leave as the brigands that you are."

Carelessly she dangled a small leather satchel that held her traveling money. The folly of her statement became evident when instead her wrist was roughly grasped and she was yanked through the open door of her coach to the ground, her feet not even touching the steps.

The force of the landing caused the attractive, stylishly attired woman to land with a thud on the hard-packed dirt. Getting up she saw the guards who had been her escort surrounded by three times the number of mean-looking, heavily armed men who were dressed as soldiers.

These were no mere robbers.

Quickly glancing about she saw nearly two dozen men surrounding her party. Courage gave way to fear but she tried desperately not to show it.

The gaze of the man who had forced her from the blissful comfort of her coach only minutes before she had enjoyed caused her to lower her eyes. Fear began to grow like a weed.

"Whatever you want, my father will pay," Bronwyn burst out, with a tinge of desperation.

The reply chilled her to the bone despite the warmth of the spring day.

"Oh no missy, what I want your father cannot give me," the leering man declared. "Into the carriage with you and we'll talk about what I want."

The now ashen-faced woman was rudely picked up and shoved back into the carriage, landing roughly on the floor then slamming into the opposite side. Helplessly she watched as the man unbuckled his sword and handed it to an accomplice standing nearby.

"Now no one disturb us see, this here is a lady after all." The leader of the brigands called out mounting the steps.

Jovial laughter met the statement but caught, as if suspended in air by a booming declaration:

"You there…hold!"

All eyes turned in the direction of the sound to face the sight of a mounted knight, wearing a battle helm and cloaked in black with a large white cross in the center of his surcoat.

The leader of the raiders was unimpressed. "Get ye gone monk and your scarecrows too or you'll face me boot," he spat out. At the same time he reached for his scabbard and drew a razor sharp sword.

The only response was the command: "Draw…front form!"

As if transformed, with the rasp of steel and the whiney of horse the docile column moved with precision into a threatening line, gleaming weapons at the ready. Emphasizing the point, their leader, sitting motionless, held a massive great sword as if it were a twig.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the attackers.

Only moments early, James Stewart had glanced about with apprehension and some recollection. Has it been eight years since last he'd been in England? Those had been very different circumstances, a journey to recruit knights to his order.

And now this.

He then thought of the blur of the last two years and what had led to him being there. He wondered again about his path, the choice he'd made to come back, but what had been done to his family had to be avenged.

Though only thirty years of age the blond haired man didn't look it. He looked much older due not only to the many hours spent in the Middle Eastern sun but also the weight of the past two years. Yet underneath, his body was hard and strong from riding and fighting. There was a suppleness in the muscles that had come from hours practicing with the sword. There were many that said James Stewart had been the best swordsman of all the Knights Hospitaler which was high praise indeed. The man's face was deeply tanned with creases of age lining his eyes. The beard he'd worn after his tragedy had been cut back into the more familiar goatee he'd worn for years until he'd let himself go.

No more. He was once again on crusade.

His jaw was firm and his eyes though clear blue and lively showed a depth of sadness about them.

Here he was in England, heading to Durham, a name that he could not even speak without a violent reaction until a few weeks ago. He reflected on the prayer and silent meditation that had been required to exorcise that demon. Yet he realized the mailed gauntlet that held the reigns of his war horse was gripping the leather so tight he felt his hand cramping. Perhaps he was not over it just yet.

Then he and his men came upon the scene of the stopped carriage and the raiders who held its passengers at bay. At first he wanted to turn away, to leave this circumstance to someone else but he couldn't. As much as he wanted to see himself as a singular animal, a focused automaton bent on one course, he couldn't. So he rode into the unfolding drama, cursing his fate.

Nervously the attackers looked at each other and their leader. Though numerically superior being on foot placed them at a disadvantage. Plus the precision of their opponent's movement showed these were men not to be taken lightly.

"Come to me," the brigand leader called out in challenge, sensing the momentum shift, "and I will paint that cloak red with your blood."

With a casual, "We shall see," James lightly spurred his horse forward.

The brigand swished his sword back and forth, planting himself to strike at the opportune time, watching the approaching rider with a seasoned eye. As the knight's opponent pulled back to strike, James darted forward ahead of it, bringing his sword down with such force it drove the others from his hand with a metallic clang. With lighting agility and dexterity, the knight reined his horse about causing the beast to make a tight turn while whipping his own sword around until it rested firmly on the neck of the now silent raider.

"Quarter!" the clearly beaten man cried out, panting and barely able to contain his fear, "for the love of God I cry quarter."

"You are fortunate sir that God is merciful for if it were for me to decide I should send your head back to its master in a basket," James replied coldly, drilling the man with his eyes. "Take your men and begone," he ordered, his eyes not leaving the brigands.

As if to emphasize the point, the rest of his men thundered down onto the villains to cover them with their drawn weapons.

In under a minute the men who had been triumphant only moments before were quickly trotting down the road in the opposite direction in order to get away from their foe.

Nimbly dismounting from his horse and removing his helm, James peered into the coach.

"My lady, are you unharmed?" he asked gently.

"Yes, of course I am you dolt!" Bronwyn's caustic reply took James aback. "Why did you let that… that scum escape with his life?"

James recoiled from the attack but maintained his composure. "It's against my vows and my honor to strike down a man when he seeks quarter," he replied as if looking at a child, "regardless of who he is. His punishment is up to God."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither understanding the other. The tension was broken by one of the lady's men-at-arms.

"Thank you sir, for coming to our aid," the mail-clad soldier said humbly. "We owe you our lives."

James could see the clear embarrassment on the man's face for his inability to protect his charge.

"We were happy to be of assistance," the Hospitaler replied lightly. "I'm sure you would have had the situation in hand in short order."

The soldier nodded grimly, knowing full well what a lie that was but appreciating the courtesy of the knight before him at sparing his pride.

"You're a Hospitaler?" the man asked with a hint of awe in his voice.

"In a manner of speaking," James replied vaguely, causing the soldier before him to look puzzled.

Rebuked and somewhat calmed, the woman at the center of the attack realized her folly at chastising her savior so haltingly attempted to reduce the damage to her reputation.

"I… I apologize sir," she stammered. "The emotion of the moment quite overcame me. To whom do I have the honor to thank for my salvation?"

"James Stewart, Milady," he answered hesitantly, not being able to lie.

"Of?" she pressed.

"Of the road," James responded with an edge to his voice he regretted.

The attractive young woman was intelligent enough to catch the hint to ask no more, despite a growing curiosity now that she was safe.

"I am the Lady Bronwyn," she announced with a flourish, emerald green eyes sparkling, "daughter of Lord Walter Fitzralph, the Baron of Heddon and I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

James nodded his head in a deferential bow but did no more which caused her curiosity to grow even more.

"You and your men will escort us to my father's castle will you not?" she asked expectantly, "…to ensure our safety."

Her man-at-arms grimaced at the statement but said nothing, lowering his eyes to the ground.

"I believe your men are adequate for the job, Milady," he responded, receiving a smile from the chastened man. "The brigands are scattered and your men will not be caught ill-prepared again."

"True, true," she answered enthusiastically, catching the looks between the two men and realizing her error. "But my father would like to thank you at the very least. Please, at least come and dine with us and allow us to provide a place to rest and refresh your men and horses," she implored, smiling radiantly.

James looked over to Malcolm who shook his head slightly showing himself to be against the scheme. Still, the men could use a good meal and warm place to spend the night. The trail rations and hard ground had begun to take its toll. He weighed the option of taking the offer versus the inevitable curiosity of turning down the invitation.

"Very well," James sighed audibly. "Lead on to your father's keep. It would be our honor to dine with you."

He looked up and silently cursed. What was this going to do to his quest?


	6. Chapter 5: Discoveries

Chapter 5– Discoveries

The Lady Bronwyn returned to her comfortable coach, satisfied with her victory at overcoming James' desire to move on. For his part, the Hospitaler began to question the wisdom of his decision but there was nothing for it, they would have to ride out this detour in their course of action.

With a nod from his leader, Malcolm called the men back into formation but instead of fanning out and providing protection for the column they moved into a parade ground formation, ceding the role of protection to the Lady's own escort.

The leader of the small detachment smiled at the respect he was being shown. They'd been caught off guard, he knew it and they knew it. In reality he and his troop had no right to lead the way. Yet these odd men and their intense leader had shown not only grace towards them but humility. The lean, middle-aged soldier knew he was in their debt. Once his men were organized and the column moving he rode up to pace beside the Hospitaler who trotted placidly behind the carriage and ahead of his contingent.

"I am Alric, the Baron's chief man-at-arms, servant of Lord Walter," the soldier introduced himself to the Hospitaler.

James nodded in acknowledgement but didn't offer his name in return. "You are the protector of the keep?" he asked instead.

No, there is another, a nobleman and suitor of Milady who holds the position of champion," Alric answered, a bit surprised by the question. "He is Sir Simon of Ashington."

James nodded, not really caring. He'd merely wanted to deflect the conversation away from himself. The Hospitaler planned on fulfilling his obligation to the lady, resting the men and moving on as quickly as possible. The reality of the answer to the question though suddenly caught him for a moment. He was, in his mind, in enemy territory, and needed to be prepared if he were recognized or his quest discovered. Had he allowed himself to make a stupid blunder so close to fulfilling his quest? They were only days away from Durham and now this. He needed to regroup and know what they faced.

"What is the Baron's disposition?" the Hospitaler asked with feigned casualness.

"Twenty men-at-arms, sir."

"And what about archers?"

"None," the ruddy-faced Alric answered. "The expense to keep them is too great. I do have some men who can shoot but nothing like the Welsh." He rubbed his broad nose. "No we are an adequate company for what we've needed to do so far. And if I might add, they are a score of the finest soldiers you will see."

James nodded his head but wondered what he'd based that assertion on. There were those who had gone on crusade and fought, proving their worth, and those who had not. But he was not about to quibble about these types of things anymore. Thankfully the chatty soldier had not asked him about his background or reason for being in the shire.

As if reading the troubled man's mind Alric changed topics. "So where do you and your men hail from sir?" he asked lightly.

James didn't answer the question. Instead he switched to a topic that had troubled him ever since he saw the attackers on the road.

"Those men who attacked your column, they were no mere brigands I think. A number of them wore a device and they seemed to be soldiers. What was happening there?"

It was Alric's turn to be uncomfortable. "Yes, you noticed that. Well, there's a situation brewing that may require the assistance of someone who knows his way around warfare."

"What do you mean?" James asked, his curiosity at the anomaly distracting him for a moment.

"I have said too much already sir and should know better to hold my tongue. That is for the Baron to explain," Alric confessed. "I'm thankful for your assistance."

The pair rode in silence the rest of the way to the castle. Coming out of the cheery forest the structure dominated the surrounding area. It was of simple design: classic four tower structure with central gatehouse, drawbridge and portcullis. Surprisingly, the walls were made of stone as was the keep signifying Lord Walter to be a man of some means. A shallow dry ditch surrounded the walls that James observed would do little to stop a determined foe. Two mail clad men-at-arms stood on top of the gatehouse area and watched their arrival with interest. Riding into the courtyard the party was met by a pack of yapping dogs and a few curious looks. Buildings had been constructed into the walls holding a blacksmith, barns, livery, storage areas and barracks. A large well stood off to the side and a small, barred salley port was opposite to the main gate. All in all, James thought it to be a handsome little castle. Combined with the fields, forest and village nearby it was an idyllic place.

A man with a brass chain and key hanging around his neck came out of the main door to the keep and watched their approach. "Back so soon Alric?" the stern faced steward called out curiously. "And with guests. What's this all about?"

"Trouble on the road Vyncent," the soldier replied grimly, wiping the smile off the steward's face. "Inform Lord Walter that we have guests and I have need to speak with him right away."

In a whirlwind of activity the travelers were escorted into the keep and shown where their quarters would be. Water was drawn and the opportunity to freshen up given in preparation for the evening's feast. Finally, after scurrying servants left them alone the men could relax and talk among themselves.

"Now what?" Malcolm asked plainly, after checking to see no one was around to listen. "We're invited to dine with a Baron within three days ride of Durham. This can't be good."

"Well," James replied with a sigh, "it is what it is. We couldn't very well refuse the offer that would have raised suspicions. Plus, you and the men deserve a good meal and rest," he added with a forced smile. "Who knows when we'll have this opportunity again."

Or if, the forlorn knight wanted to add but held his tongue.

Malcolm looked at him hard. "Still the question remains, what do we do?"

"We eat, act in a cordial manner, since we have no claim against this man or any in his household, and be ready to ride hard at a moment's notice if we're discovered."

The answer seemed to satisfy the stocky Scotsman and so he and the other men-at-arms relaxed and enjoyed the refreshments provided. James, on the other hand, kept his sword close at hand and watched the door to their chamber.

Finally, a servant came to inform the men that the Baron had called them to the table and the feast could begin. The men looked at each other and made their way down to the Great Hall.

The room was fitting for a Baron of England and showed the man's wealth. A fire roared in a large fireplace in the center of the room while several smaller fireplaces on opposite walls and a half dozen braziers ensured the room would be cozy. Several chandeliers hung with dripping candles illuminating the room. Colorful tapestries brightened up the stone wall and animal skins and furs littered the floor making it soft to walk on. A raised dais, in front of the main fireplace was for the Baron and his daughter. Three long rows of dark mahogany tables ran perpendicular to the dais. James and his men were shown to the first seats of the middle table by Vyncent the Steward. Other guests and members of the household filtered in and took their seats. Word had obviously gotten around about who the visitors were since most looked at them curiously. But for the most part the others paid no notice of the new guests and chatted among themselves.

All but one.

A slender, middle-height man with dark features and thin black mustache glared at James and the group. Dressed in rich velvets with a fur stole around his neck and velvet hat with ostrich feather he was the picture of a dandy. He wore a thin shortsword at his waist which seemed better suited for court then combat.

Malcolm caught the glare of the man too and with a subtle turn of the head let James know they were being watched. In reality few would have missed it. The sullen man took an offered goblet of wine from a tray and sat down in a huff at the first seat at the right hand table.

"May I have your attention please!"

The sound of the Steward's clear voice calling the gathering to order chased away any further thoughts.

"Announcing Lord Walter Fitzralph, Baron of Heddon and the Lady Bronwyn Fitzralph."

Benches scraped as those in attendance for the gathering rose to their feat. Bronwyn looked dazzling in a flowing red silk gown brocaded with gold thread. She wore a circlet of gold with pearls intertwined in her golden hair which caught the candlelight. Lord Walter was a man of middle age and of average height with a round midsection. He had a ruddy complexion and kind face which lit up in a smile at the gathering. Though he appeared unfit to fight he did have an air of congeniality about him.

"Ah, welcome guests and saviors of my dear daughter, welcome to my table," the Lord said amiably opening his arms wide to the men sitting at the middle table. "Allow me to thank you for your gallant service this day and I am glad you accepted the invitation to dine with me."

"It is our honor and pleasure My Lord to dine with you," James replied politely. "We did nothing that your own men wouldn't have if they'd been in our position."

The Baron banged the table with his hand in delight. "Well said sir! I like your manner of address. You are, I understand, called James Stewart?"

"Yes my Lord."

"And where are you from?" the jovial man asked pointedly.

James felt Malcolm tense up beside him at the question. His eyes swiftly surveyed the scene. Other then Alric, who was seated at their table, there appeared to be no other soldiers about. "Of the Knights Hospitaler, My Lord."

"Well met!" he thundered. "Served in the Holy Lands I take it?"

"Yes, for many years sir."

"And I understand from my man Alric that you were with Balian at the siege of Jerusalem?"

James shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. How did he make the connection so quickly? Worse still, did the soldier know anything else about him? The simultaneous implications of the comment and the memories it brought back caused even more unease. "I was. I stood with the Defender of Jerusalem during that fateful time as did many others," he answered, looking again at avenues of exit and looking for soldiers.

"But you were there as a Hospitaler?" the Baron asked, seemingly unaware of his guests unease. "I understand that Balian had aid in his defense, from the few remaining knights left? From those knowledgeable in war?" he asked pointedly.

James said nothing; he looked down from the steady gaze of the happy man. He didn't know what to say.

Bronwyn cleared her throat, giving a hint to her father that he should sit down and continue the conversation later since everyone was still standing.

The man caught the hint. "Well, plenty of time to get to know each other. Come, sit everyone, eat, drink."

Clapping his hands the doors at the side of the hall opened and servants spilled out with trays laden with food and others holding drink. Fowl, deer, pastry, cheese and other delights tempted the guests while they were able to wash it down with mugs of ale or glasses of wine.

James hadn't eaten this well since he had dined at the table of the King of Jerusalem before he'd died and the treacherous Guy had taken over. Happy memories from what seemed a life-time ago. His mind began to drift.

"Sir? Sir James? Are you listening?"

James snapped to attention and his hand involuntarily went down to the hilt of his sword as he realized the Baron was talking to him. "Forgive me my Lord," he apologized, "a momentary lapse of concentration."

"No worries son, I'm glad you feel at liberty to do it here. I asked, are you here on the business of your Order?"

Again Malcolm tensed but James had prepared for this line of questioning. "No my Lord. The Order is somewhat inactive since the fall of Jerusalem. I travel with my men on other less urgent business."

"Ah, so you may be open then for an act of service of another nature perhaps?" Lord Walter asked, absently waving a leg of lamb.

"Father!" Bronwyn interjected but was waved off by the Baron.

James saw the finely dressed man to his right flinch also but he said nothing.

The heavy-set man stood up and called everyone to attention. "My friends! Before we get too deep into this feast, and our cups," he added to the laughter of many, "I wish to take a moment and recognize some special guests. These men here, led by their gallant Hospitaler leader Sir James Stewart, rescued my daughter from harm. I wish to publicly thank them for their bravery and gallantry in this action. Though they have asked for no reward, I give them this as a small token of my esteem." The Baron clapped his hands and a servant came in with a small box which he placed before the uncomfortable James.

"Well, open it man," the Baron commanded.

James flipped open the lid to see it was filled with gold coins and several fine pieces of jewelry. "My Lord, I can't…"

"Refuse a thankful father's gift, yes, of course you can't," the Baron of Heddon finished the sentence emphatically. Then he lifted his silver goblet. "Friends, rise and let us toast the Hospitaler!"

The hall thundered with the response. James' face reddened and he looked down uncomfortably.

"There now, with that done, lets celebrate!" the Baron declared, waving his arms flamboyantly spilling wine in the process.

With that, another score of servants came out with more food, drink and delights. As the meal continued, a trio of musicians began to play, livening up the already happy occasion.

As the others ate, Lord Walter looked James directly in the eye then motioned for him to follow. Both Bronwyn and Malcolm reacted at the same time to the directive but each was waved off.

The Baron led James through an alcove at the side of the Great Hall, down a dimly lit back corridor until they were in a richly paneled wing that ended at the man's study.

Handsomely appointed with high back leather chairs and a polished oak desk, the Baron went to a side board and poured himself a glass of refreshment then offered one to James who refused.

"I have called you here to speak privately on an urgent matter," Lord Walter declared looking at James to ensure he had the man's attention. "Forgive me for being blunt but I believe I will have need of your services within a ten-day."


	7. Chapter 6: complications

Chapter 6-Complications

James said nothing but his posture showed a lack of interest.

Desperately the Baron declared, "We have within this castle the Princess of Navarre. She is the heir to the throne since her father has died and is in need of protection."

"So? This is a matter of state, my Lord," James said, trying to end the conversation. "I must return and see to my men."

"No, wait. Hear me out. I became her protector upon her father's death but I fear I'm not up to the task."

The Hospitaler stepped back and turned for the door.

"Please wait," Lord Walter begged. "He was a dear friend of mine and so his daughter Rebekah was sent here for me to look after."

The name froze James in his tracks. "What did you say her name is?" he whispered, now listening.

"The Princess Rebekah," the Baron answered, not quite catching the change in interest.

"Why here?" a reeling James asked, trying to regain his bearings.

My friend, the king, was killed by a rival cousin who has taken the crown though she is the rightful heir. Her supporters felt she would be safe here until assistance can be raised to put her on the throne. But if she were killed there is no one left from his line."

"Why are you alone involved? Surely this is a matter for Kings to decide?"

"The King of France has an interest in the country and so has told our King to stay out of the matter," the Baron replied. "He has instructed the earls of this land to not become involved."

"I still don't see how this concerns me," James asked, fearing the answer.

"The king of Navarre has discovered the Princess is here in this castle. I've just learned he has employed a Duke from the south to come here and either take her or kill her."

"But surely your men can defend your own castle? What of your neighbors?"

"The one who comes is the Duke of Lysander," the Baron responded nervously. "He comes with a force of several hundred men and is known for being quite vicious. No one wishes to become ensnared in this situation since the powers to be have said to stay out of it. I fear the men who attacked my daughter were from his force based on the description I received."

James thought silently for several moments about what he was being asked. He'd heard of this Duke in passing before and knew him to be a fierce and ruthless fighter. The man he once was would have accepted the request for help in a moment. But he was no longer that man. He had his own crusade. It was time he looked after himself and left others to their fate.

"I sympathize with your plight my Lord but my business precludes me from staying." Guilt welled up in him like bile at the statement. "Have no fear, your men can hold," he added unconvincingly.

"Well, I thought I'd ask," the Baron asked with a forlorn look. "I can imagine the offer of pay or land would be of no interest. Well, God be with you."

The words cut James to the heart. Who had he become to turn into something like this, like the very men he sought to punish? Lord Walter began to leave the room.

"Wait My Lord," James implored. "Allow me to consider your request and how I might be able to help you. Please, let me think about it over the evening and give you my answer in the morning."

Lord Walter beamed relief obvious on his face. "Thank you sir for even thinking about it," the Baron declared, coming over and pumping the man's hand in gratitude. "I appreciate you considering this and any aid, even advice on siege, would be greatly valued."

At that, the pair left the study and returned to the Great Hall.

Though the others didn't seem to notice the absence or return of the two men one did, and with a keen eye. Lady Bronwyn gazed intently at her father and saw a concerned look on his face. She immediately came to the conclusion that there could only be one meaning. The Hospitaler had refused to aid them in their time of need.

Lady Bronwyn Fitzralph was known as many things in the shire. A great beauty, a possessor of numerous talents but perhaps the greatest cause of note was her quick, judgmental mind and acerbic tongue. Few stood up to it and fewer still recovered when her wrath spilled over. The death of her beloved mother when she was a teen had removed the last bit of restraint. Her father doted on her as his only child and heir. He knew her faults but beyond gently chiding her he offered no counterbalance. At her core Bronwyn had a kind heart but indulgence had caused it to become calloused. Yet a spark of hope, a bare flicker remained, that the path she seemed on in terms of temperament and action could be changed. If only someone…

It would not be Sir Simon of Ashington.

The dark, handsome suitor with the pencil thin mustache only encouraged her vanity. He delighted in her attacks since he was skilled in fencing not only with the sword but also the tongue. He seemed able to skillfully deflect any attack of Bronwyn's onto another and not only did so but seemed to manipulate circumstances for it to happen, further isolating her and elevating himself. His ultimate goal was her hand, in his way, and it was a game he aimed to win.

The richly dressed gentleman smiled as he sipped a goblet of wine since he'd found another outlet of amusement. He couldn't wait to see how it turned out.

Bronwyn was irritated by James and his men though she couldn't figure out why. Perhaps it was the stress of the day and how he allowed her attacker to live, Simon would not have allowed that, perhaps it was his refusal to help now. What ever it was, the wine she'd consumed only fueled the growing sour emotions she felt. The thoughts were encouraged by Sir Simon who was showing his open disdain for the men from the north. Whatever it was, the impetuous woman now sought an outlet, as she was prone to do, and so found it.

Oh sure, she thought to herself, temperature rising, it's fine that he would help when he had the element of surprise, that he would show off his skills when to his advantage, but what of a real potential fight? She knew what he was.

A craven.

The word caused her to sneer. A craven, a coward and a Scotsman. The two went hand in hand. All the while Lady Bronwyn smiled and carried on but inside the venom dripped, looking for an opportunity to burst out. Though her father was reconciled to wait for his response, even if negative, she could not, she would not. She would press this man to see what he was made of

"So you're to be leaving us, my gallant hero, I understand?" Bronwyn began playfully.

Her father caught her tone, knowing his daughter too well, and tried to intervene with a look which she ignored as always.

James was startled not only by the declaration but that she'd know of the offer her father had made. "How did you…I mean…," he sputtered before regaining his faculties. "That is still to be determined my Lady. It may well be that we'll leave in the morning as I stated on the road when accepting your kind invitation."

"And what's keeping you from staying?" she prodded. "A home perhaps? A family?"

She spotted the small piece of embroidered cloth the man held absently in his hand, as if some charm. The needlework appeared course and crude. She smiled and pounced like a cat on a mouse.

"Ah, I see now what holds you back."

"What?" James choked out, tone changing and face going white.

"The favor you hold in your hand," Bronwyn pointed with a delicate finger. "I can see it has a draw on you, distracts you even from our conversation."

Bronwyn knew she'd struck a cord with the powerful Hospitaler. Something inside her said to not go down this path, screamed it at her, but anger, pride and a wink from Sir Simon encouraged her to go on.

"Come now. Nothing to be squeamish about sir. You are one sworn to defend and protect. Your family can wait, they must wait for yours is a greater calling to protect the greater good," the richly dressed lady declared. "Besides, what charms could the northlands hold to what is before you?"

She opened her arms alluringly but only in mock invitation.

"My Lady, you do not know…you do not understand …my situation," James stammered, "makes it…difficult…"

"Oh come man," Bronwyn exploded, finally showing her irritation. "You do not know, you do not understand," she mimicked him, mocking his pained tone of voice. "What are you about? Are you a soldier or some wilting priest? Does hearth and home so compel you that you turn your back on honor? Come declare yourself."

The man stared at her, a mixture of shock and hurt on his face. The total impropriety of the statement caused others to look away in embarrassment.

James knew he should hold his tongue. He was already too far into this conversation and too much was at risk if the true nature of their mission should be discovered. He could sense his men, Malcolm especially, fidgeting in aggravation at the situation. Yet something compelled him to speak, to try to allow this petulant noblewoman to understand.

"I would attempt to be both my Lady," he answered lowly, eyes looking at the polished stone floor of the Great Hall. "Honor. A strange use of a word in this circumstance. You speak of my family and you don't know what you say. They are…"

Then she said it.

"Not worthy of my interest in this situation, judging by the quality of the embroidery you hold so dear to your heart."

A lady in the gathering gasped at the comment and Bronwyn's father turned pale. But the petulant noble was on a roll so pressed on.

"My maid servant's servant does better work then that," the Lady Bronwyn added icily. But rather then be shocked herself by the statement she smiled triumphantly at her perceived victory. She knew the words were overly harsh, even inflammatory, and would of course retract them later as was proper. But for now she would bask in her triumph. That was how the game was played.

But James Stewart didn't play this game.

The Hospitaler looked up, his face going from white to red to white again as he gave a pained grunt. Then, without a word or acknowledgement to anyone in the room he turned and walked out.

"What just happened here?" Bronwyn asked in confusion, trying to collect her thoughts. This was not how things were supposed to go.

While Sir Simon chuckled, Malcolm, seething with rage, took up the question as a challenge rather then a rhetorical statement.

"What just happened? The Master-at-Arms leapt to his feet, body convulsing with emotion. "My master is a gentleman and as such will not speak to such folly. I on the other hand, am a soldier and not bound by such rules."

"Pray then sir, enlighten us as to the perceived injury to our gallant friend," Bronwyn responded somewhat haughtily, trying to restore her dignity, but beginning to realize that she may have made an error.

"My Lord, Sir James was married once and had a family," Malcolm choked out, eyes welling with tears, trying to regain control of his emotions.

"Had? And he is a knight?" Bronwyn asked in confusion.

Malcolm tried to hold his tongue, to not go further in this conversation, but his highland blood boiled at this English woman's arrogance. He was ready for a fight and so were the other men. He would speak his mind and leave the rest in the hands of God.

"Of course he's a knight! How else could he be a Hospitaler? And yes he had a family." Malcolm let the words sink in. "They were murdered by an arrogant English nobleman as punishment for Sir James' unwillingness to give him what he wanted." He looked around the room, daring someone to speak, to draw a weapon, but none moved or barely even breathed. "Yes, murdered before his eyes, wife and daughter burned before him while his hands were bound and forced to watch….Yes, he is a knight and a gentleman."

Bronwyn was overcome by the imagery of the scene and unable to believe in such barbarity. She tried to rally her confidence but failed. Her shaky reply betrayed her uncertainty. "Surely you exaggerate?"

"You damned English!" Malcolm exploded in reply, the disgust and rage at the question hanging in the air, "I was there! I saw it with me own eyes! That embroidery you insulted was done by his daughter and is the only thing he has left of her!"

With that he violently kicked the stool out from behind him and stormed from the room, the other men-at-arms following in his wake.

Bronwyn burst into tears and placed her head upon the table.

"Oh daughter, oh daughter," Lord Walter cried out, "once again your quick wit and sharp tongue has gotten us into trouble. What shall we do? Surely your insult will drive this knight from our presence and then what of us? We have not a hope, not a hope…"

"Father how can you THINK of such things at a time like this?" Bronwyn sobbed, all composure gone at the realization of the ugliness lying beneath her beautiful visage. "I have insulted this man and insulted the memory of his family. I have broken again the heart of a man whose heart has been smashed. What a vile creature I am!"

Though Sir Simon attempted to stop her, she fled from the room, her long robe trailing along like a funeral shroud as the others tried to figure out what had just happened.

She had to find him.

Bronwyn knew she had to make him understand that she was not the person he must think. Suddenly she cared nothing for what happened to her home and her own comfort, she could only think of righting the wrong she had committed.

Rounding a corner within the sleeping quarter wing of the keep she spotted him further up the hall walking away from her. She prepared to speak but halted suddenly with her mouth open. Stepping into the paneled hallway to stop his progress was the princess. The Hospitaler paused for a moment, she observed, as if weighing whether to stay or press past the tiny girl. He crouched down and began to speak to the princess. Remaining in the shadows Bronwyn could overhear their conversation.

"What is your name young miss?" the Hospitaler asked politely.

"My name is Rebekah," the golden haired girl of six answered. "I'm a princess."

James was taken aback by her age. He'd expected another haughty young lady like Bronwyn, not a little girl about the age of…

"So you are I take it," he responded, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He looked down at this vulnerable little girl, noticed an elderly maid listening in the shadows, and remembered others he'd helped who carried titles they didn't really understand. Suddenly he was in no hurry to be alone.

"Do you know what really makes a princess?" the teacher in him asked.

"No I don't," she screwed up her serene face but then brightened. "Will you tell me?"

James breathed hard and stifled a sob. "While a princess may be one who has title or birth that is not what makes a true princess. Certainly this is not enough to win the hearts of the people she will one day lead. Instead, she possesses an inner spirit which comes from God and a joy and beauty both from within and without. She is one who knows that in order to lead, she must be willing to give and to serve. These are the things needed to truly be a princess." Gazing intently into her innocent blue eyes he felt a peace and joy he hadn't for years. "You I see have both."

"You know a lot about little girls, Sir Knight," the princess commented. "Do you have one of your own?"

Bronwyn winced at the fact the little girl could see the nobility in the man she had missed.

James flinched at the comment, fighting hard to maintain his composure. "I did, my own little princess," he choked out, barely able to speak, eyes beginning to glisten, "also named Rebekah. She would be about your age…"

"What happened to her?" the young girl asked innocently, eyes widening.

"She died several years ago and is with our Lord Jesus right now."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yes," he whispered, shaking his head sadly, tears spilling out of his eyes. "I miss her terribly. There's not a day goes by that I don't think of her."

Bronwyn burst into tears of her own, barely able to control her sobs at this admission from the strong, powerful warrior. She fought hard to not be discovered and break the moment.

The young girl paused for several moments, as if deep in thought. "Well, you're a soldier for God so you will see her again some day," Rebekah commented philosophically. "But let me give you this in the mean time."

With that she opened her tiny arms and tightly embraced the man.

Peeking from the shadows Bronwyn could see his shoulders convulsing as he attempted to control his emotions.

Releasing the man with no idea the impact she had just made or the decision which had just been rendered Princess Rebekah skipped off down the hall humming a song with her lady-in-waiting following behind.

James maintained his posture for several minutes, mind churning, until he felt the presence of someone standing behind him. He stood and turned slowly to see Bronwyn, eyes glistening and cheeks stained with tears.

"Sir… I…I…" she stammered, "I do not desire to disturb your privacy but I had to seek you out and explain…to help you see that I…" She paused to catch her breath and calm her beating heart. He said nothing and looked at her in a way she couldn't read which made her feel even more unsettled. "Words cannot express the sorrow I feel at the injury I caused you this evening. I am a foolish woman and am not mistress of my tongue at times. Please, please know that I meant no insult to the memory of your dear family and please accept my most humble apology."

"Milady, that is quite unnecessary," James replied evenly. "You didn't know my circumstances so as such I cannot hold you in any contempt."

"But yet sir, what you must think of me for my cavalier nature and mannerisms. Between my conduct on the road and this evening I fear that you will have a terribly wrong impression of me."

"Madame, I can assure you that I see you as every bit the English lady and hold no ill will towards you," James declared coldly.

The words cut Bronwyn like a dagger to the heart.

Not knowing and not caring, the Hospitaler declared, "Now if you would excuse me, I am very tired."

Without another word or glance the man wheeled about and walked away to his bed chamber. As a result James didn't see the woman break into sobs, then spasms, for she knew that he'd seen her exactly as she was.


	8. Chapter 7: shifting winds

Chapter 7 –Shifting winds

James lay on top of his down-filled bed, fully clothed, sleep evading him. He didn't know the hour but did know he would not sleep this night. He was a man torn, anger coursed through his body but a new emotion, compassion, competed with his more base sensations. The one screamed, the other whispered. Duty…pledge…calling...honor…all called to him, spoke, whispered, tormented him through the night until he heard a rooster crow and the first light of the new day.

Malcolm stood in the courtyard of the castle holding the reigns of his horse and that of Sir James. The others of their party stood in a similar position, waiting and watching. Several of Lord Walter's men looked on but kept their distance. Though outnumbered in the castle there was a subtle menace about these men from the north that none wanted to mix with. Only Alric, the Baron's sergeant-at-arms dared to interact with the visitors. Even he couldn't crack the visage of the travelers. They waited only for the appearance of their master to leave.

The men stiffened, ready to leave, as they heard the sound of heavy boots purposefully tramping down the main hall to the door of the keep. The Baron's men responded differently, preparing for their inevitable demise with the coming of their enemy's men.

Bronwyn had not slept that night either, but for a different reason. She had recounted not only the conversation the night before; she'd replayed that in her mind a thousand times already, but also her motivation for the caustic words. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her words, at her black mood. Though lovely on the outside and presenting an attractive countenance, she knew there was a dark ugliness inside her. Shame caused hot tears to stain her cheeks once again. Sir Simon had knocked on her door before retiring and again in the morning but she refused to acknowledge him.

_When will I start to act as my role dictates rather then like a spoiled child?_ she chided herself, punching a soft pillow in frustration.

She could only blame her father's indulgence so far, it was her choice. Yes, her choice to accept Simon's flattery and encouragement of her selfishness. Bronwyn was heartily ashamed of herself. Now her home was about to be destroyed and more importantly, a little girl her father had pledged to protect would be forcibly taken to a fate she could not even begin to imagine.

_All because of my pride_, Bronwyn confessed to herself.

She'd looked from her window in the keep and saw the men from the north saddled and ready to ride. Instinctively she knew that with them assisting things would be different. They had all fought for real and lived to tell about it. Yet none of them bragged like Sir Simon did, none even mentioned their exploits. Not Simon. He who had done nothing more then joust and even then, never outside of a padded lance, talked much. No, there was something about them.

Then there was their leader.

She knew he was a leader, no, more then that, a warrior. Though dressed as a monk and possessing the saddest eyes she'd ever seen she knew he would make the difference in the coming struggle.

_If only I'd held my tongue_, she thought, _if only I'd encouraged him._

Sir James walked through the front door, a grim look on his face.

"Ready to ride master," Malcolm reported, offering the reigns of James' horse to him.

"We're not leaving," the Hospitaler replied stiffly

Malcolm opened his mouth to protest but a look from James kept the wise Scotsman silent.

Bronwyn watched the tall man in black turn and walk back into the keep. She couldn't hear the conversation but knew his sergeant-at-arms was not pleased by it. A flicker of hope ignited in the anguished woman.

Lord Walter's steward tried to stop the grim-faced knight from disturbing the Baron's breakfast to no avail. The Hospitaler pushed past the slight servant and walked into the private dining chamber. The Baron of Heddon in truth had no appetite due to the recent events and what he anticipated so sat toying with his food. The sight of the knight caused him to start in surprise, then hope.

James drew his sword out with a rasp then knelt down before the startled Baron. "Lord Walter," he began officiously, "as protector of the Princess Rebekah of Navarre I pledge to you my sword, my life and my men in her service. We are at your disposal until circumstances are such that she can live in safety and without fear of harm. I pledge this to you before Almighty God."

Then the knight stood up, returned sword to scabbard, wheeled about and walked out of the room before the astonished nobleman could even acknowledge the pledge, let alone respond.

Moments later, his men were equally astonished but given the chance to respond.

"Are ye daft man?" Malcolm exploded before catching himself. "Begging your pardon my Lord."

"No, speak freely Malcolm since this concerns us all."

The faithful servant looked hard at his master for a moment, gauging his response. "Very well, this concerns us all yet you do not take us into your council?" he asked angrily. "What of your pledge? What of our quest?"

"Things have changed," James replied quietly, averting Malcolm's blazing look. "I declare your pledge fulfilled and your honor intact. I release you all from my service and wish you every happiness."

"Just like that?" Malcolm spat out. "After all we've gone through? You just send us on our way? Does this fat noble and his pretentious daughter hold such great appeal?"

"No, for the Princess Rebekah," James voice broke and his eyes filled with tears. "I'll allow no other young one to suffer such as mine did while I draw breath, regardless of birth. I will protect the Princess and then I will kill the Earl. But I hold no such obligation over you anymore. Forgive me."

Malcolm snorted then shook his head. "Why didn't ye say so in the first place?" He looked at the others who all nodded their agreement in unison. "This changes nothing. We're with you to the end."

James bowed his head, humbled by the declaration and devotion of those he continued to lead into harms way. Was he being selfish? Was this about him and not justice?

_Some Hospitaler I am_, he thought, _I've neglected those in my charge and not even prayed about any of these things_.

"Thank you," James responded humbly, going and shaking each man's hand. "Thank you for your faithfulness and willingness to stand with me. May God reward you for it." Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out with a loud sigh apprehension gave way to resolution. "Now, let's look to the defenses of this place."

Bronwyn watched the men unsaddle their horses and dared to hope. Sir James moved to Alric and began to talk in earnest. Light entered into the darkness of her heart and a spark was lit.

The Baron sighed with relief when the word came to him the men were staying. He said a silent prayer of thanks then prepared to receive the Hospitaler more formally. He'd been caught off guard by the declaration but now he began to believe that they may come out of this dark situation after all.

Lord Alfred had never been either a brave man or a vigorous one but he was a man of principle and honor. He'd been saddened to hear the news that his good friend the King of Navarre had died and had readily agreed to take charge of his young daughter Rebekah. He'd thought nothing of it since it seemed the right thing to do though it did strike him as odd that she would be leaving her own country. His simple mind didn't allow him to connect the dots.

Little did he know the king had been murdered by his cousin who'd done it to seize the throne. Since the queen had died in childbirth that made the young girl heir. Only one small obstacle stood in the ambitious man's way.

When the Princess arrived with her maidservant the envoy informed the Baron of the truth of the situation. He'd been uneasy hearing it but still hadn't thought much of it. Then he'd received news the newly declared king intended to kill the young girl to secure his throne. The Baron's letters seeking support against this scheme had been rejected and so he suddenly found himself standing alone.

Lord Walter Fitzralph had never been a military man and had neglected his forces since he'd never been threatened until now. Then he'd found out the Duke of Lysander marched from the south to take the girl. Honor and decency would not allow him to hand her over but how could he fight? Worse still, how could he fight such a fearsome foe? Then, as if providence had intervened, the Hospitaler and his men arrived

The Baron of Heddon said another prayer of thanks.

A short while later, James and Malcolm followed Lord Alfred into his study. Tension filled the air yet there also was a sense of optimism. A parchment map of the area with the castle and village detailed on it sat on the Baron's desk with the men huddling around it.

"So Lord Alfred, what would you have us do?" the Hospitaler asked quietly.

The heavy-set man glanced around nervously, a bead of perspiration appearing on his already shiny forehead. "I...I have no experience in matters of siege...let alone matters of war," the man admitted bravely looking at the oak flooring, feeling every bit the coward. "Another will need to lead our defenses. I will put whatever I can at their disposal."

James looked at the assembled men, the Baron, Alric, Sir Simon, Malcolm and waited for another to step forward to lead.

None spoke and all save Malcolm averted the gaze of the others. James' faithful servant knew where their hope lay.

He, on the other hand, had little to hope for. At least 300 soldiers led by a vicious noble were coming within days and he had nothing to counter it with. It was a fool's mission yet he felt more peace and contentment then he'd experienced since that terrible day.

Finally he was working for something and not against something. He may never have his revenge and part of him was happy about that. He could die here content, knowing it had been for a greater good. He had to push the conflicting thoughts aside; he HAD to succeed at both missions. He must defend the Princess and kill the Earl. Was this a contradiction? Was his oath a farce? Voices screamed in his head, wrenched his heart in every direction. On the surface he was calm diffidence yet below, he churned.

Action.

He needed action to squelch the fire that raged within.

"Gentlemen," he began, getting everyone's attention, declaring who would be leading, "we have a steep task before us so we need to know our options. Alric, your troop has twenty men-at-arms, no cavalry and no archers, correct?"

The soldier nodded in agreement.

"What are we able to draw upon from your people my Lord?" James asked the Baron without any hint of condemnation in his voice. None was needed. All knew the man had neglected his defenses believing himself to be safe.

"I believe we can draw two score useful men from the area. Plus we've some excellent woodsmen who know their way around the bow."

"How many?"

"A dozen at most," the Baron confessed apologetically.

James was satisfied with the report. It was roughly what he'd expected at such a time. He turned his gaze to the handsome nobleman idly picking his fingernails with a dagger. "And you sir, how many men do you muster?"

The question startled Sir Simon and he nicked his finger with the blade by accident. "Well, I can...you see...this is a complicated matter."

"Come sir, out with it," James declared testily, "how many men?"

"None," Sir Simon of Ashington admitted.

"None!" James blew up. "You're the champion of this castle and you muster no men? How is that possible?" He looked incredulously from the wilting man to the red-faced Baron.

"There was no need," the Baron spoke for the young man whose pride would not allow him to make the confession.

"Lovely!" Malcolm snorted, jumping to his feet. "A champion without any men. Huh, a champion in name only." Disgusted, the stocky Scotsman spat on the floor. "Come Sir James, enough of this nonsense. Let us be gone from this place and leave these Sassenachs to their own folly."

The Hospitaler wanted the same thing in many ways but the declaration made the purpose of his decision that much clearer. How could he in good conscience leave these people and the Princess regardless of how much they deserved it?

"No Malcolm, we stay."

The Scotsman grunted but said nothing more.

"So we muster 90 against their 300," James confirmed quietly, staring at the map.

"But we have a castle, surely that equalizes the numbers?" the Baron responded hopefully.

"If properly defended it might. Let's see that this happens. My Lord, Sir Simon, thank you for your time, we will carry on from here."

"But I am the champion of this keep," the man protested. "You can't just dismiss me like that."

"Come," the Baron declared, grabbing the young man by the elbow and steering him from the room, let's leave these men to their work, we'd only be in the way."

Despite his protests Sir Simon was led from the chamber and the Baron closed the door.

"Thank you," Alric declared, finally speaking, "for staying and…for other things you've done," the soldier said awkwardly, understanding the folly of his situation. "He's a good man if a bit naive. No one expected anything like this to happen."

"He should of thought of this when he took the lass under his roof!" Malcolm countered haughtily.

"True, but he's not been one for forward thinking or discomfort," Alric countered.

"Enough," James ordered, raising his hand to silence the pair. "There's no profit in this discussion. What is, is and it's now up to us to make something of it. Come, let's take a tour of the castle."

Bronwyn watched the men walking purposefully around the walls of the castle. Sir James was obviously the leader even from this distance. Alric, two of her father's men and the stocky Scotsman who always followed his master about made up the party. Despite the gap separating them and the inability to hear she could see the effect the Hospitaler's presence was having on those around them. A calming aura exuded from him and any who came into contact seemed to benefit from it. She could see him pointing to various places as they walked, giving instructions to the men as they nodded in agreement.

Only recently Bronwyn had started to fear what would happen to them when the Duke's men arrived but now she began to feel more confident and comfortable. She could see it in the men as they interacted with the Hospitaler. There was something compelling about him. She'd initially not thought him overly handsome despite his obvious physical attributes. Compared to Sir Simon he was nothing. But now, a different feeling was beginning to build.

Her moment of quiet reflection was interrupted by sharp knocking on the door to her outer chamber. Even before her maidservant came to report her visitor she knew who it was.

"Sir Simon to see you milady."

The handsome nobleman's fine-looking features were marred by an ugly anger. Before she could even greet him he burst into a petulant diatribe.

"Dismissed! I was dismissed like a common servant by that upstart Scotsman. Even your father sided with him. Now he's moving about freely, setting things in motion I have nothing to do with. It's not fair!" To emphasize his childish outburst he stomped his foot on the ground.

In the past Bronwyn would have flown to his side and calmed the temperamental gentleman but this day she could only stare at him incredulously. With an imminent and dire threat to her home and community, to her family and herself even all he could do was think of himself. She thought of the Hospitaler, of her insult to him the previous night, of their conversation after he'd spoken to the Princess and her face burned with shame.

"There's something not right about this Hospitaler either," Sir Simon continued not seeing the change in the woman. "Why is he here in England? We've not seen any before. And why does he not tell us where he's from? He's hiding something I tell you."

"Well you must admit he's had a change in circumstances. Only yesterday he comes to my aid and then gets caught up in helping us with our unique situation," Bronwyn defended him. "I think that would unsettle anyone."

Simon seemed shocked by the lady's tone and her lack of sympathy for his plight. "What are you about?" he questioned testily. "Have you even heard a word I've spoken?" he asked woundedly.

She looked at the man with new eyes and he didn't seem nearly so handsome anymore, especially compared to one she was beginning to consider in a different light.

Late in the afternoon James walked through the small, but well laid-out flower garden beside the keep to collect his thoughts. Malcolm and two of his men had ridden out to discover the location and disposition of their foe, the Baron had been instructed to write letters to the Earls and others in the area seeking their aid in this matter, Alric and his men were busy constructing improvements to the castle's defenses and recruiting additional men for the garrison. He would be drilling them after an evening meal then seeing to the archers he'd asked about. But for now he had a respite.

Or so he thought. Rounding a corner he came upon the Princess and her attendant picking flowers by an arbor. At first he thought to change his course but something drew him to the side of the vulnerable royal.

"Hello Sir James!" she called out to him cheerfully as she spotted the knight approaching, running over to give him a spontaneous hug.

The Hospitaler's heart soared at the touch of the child and he fought back tears as he savored the moment. He'd made the right decision not only to not turn away when he saw her in the garden but to not abandon her altogether. Though conflict continued to battle within him over what he was to do, for the moment he put that aside and savored life. Briefly even the sadness in his eyes that so characterized him left.

Bronwyn watched the unaware knight interacting with the lively child in the garden from a distance and smiled anew. He seemed to be getting more handsome by the minute.


	9. Chapter 8: to the walls!

Chapter 8: to the walls!

"The Duke's forces will be here within two days maximum," a dirt-stained Malcolm reported after riding hard to bring his report. "They're moving at a leisurely pace in the open and with no sense of caution."

James nodded his head, taking in the information. He then turned to the Baron and asked, "And what of your friends, my Lord? Who will come to our aid?"

The usually jovial nobleman had an uncomfortable look on his face and averted any eye contact. "No one. None will brook the king's order to not get involved. Several even think I should hand the child over and save myself an unfortunate incident."

James opened his mouth to counter the suggestion but the Baron quelled any concern.

"I would never do that and the very suggestion disgusts me," Lord Walter declared. "I may have been many things over the course of my life, and I'm beginning to realize few of them have had any merit, but I will not go against my honor and what's right."

"Well said!" James boomed, pounding on the table he stood before in emphasis. "And we will defend this castle to the last if need be."

While Sir Simon shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion it seemed to be a cathartic declaration for the others.

"Ah, Sir James…" Malcolm interjected uncomfortably, interrupting the revelry.

"Yes, what is it Malcolm?"

"Their numbers appear to be closer to four hundred then three hundred," the sergeant reported.

The report deflated the mood in the room in the blink of an eye. Not for James Stewart though. He finally had something positive to focus his energy on for the first time in years.

"Three hundred or four hundred is of no consequence. Saladin had ten times that number and we held Jerusalem," the Hospitaler declared.

Those in the room visibly perked up at the man's resolve.

"What of any siege equipment?" James queried.

"I saw none in his train sir," Malcolm reported. "It was mostly foot soldiers with likely two score mounted men, a troop of archers and a column of supply wagons."

"Then we have him!" James stated confidently. "Come, let's go and look again at our defenses."

For the next two days the castle and surrounding area was a hive of activity. Those taking up arms in defense of the Baron moved into the castle along with their families so space had to be freed up. Those who could not or would not enter into the safety of the walls fled the area until things settled. So by the end the village was empty.

Food was brought in and the village stripped bare of everything that would aid the enemy. The village well was fouled making it unusable but not until James and his men did it at the sword point. That caused some tense moments but people realized the stern Hospitaler was not to be crossed. No, he clearly was playing to win.

From that point on nothing was done in half measures. Boulders were placed on the walls and strategic points reinforced. Large cauldrons were commandeered from the kitchens despite the head cook's protests and fashioned to dump boiling oil. Buckets for hot pitch were prepared and placed along the walls. While James supervised these activities Malcolm drilled the men and formed them into units. Those who could use a bow practiced until their fingers were numb from repetition. The Baron, a jeweled sword strapped onto his ample waist, displayed an unusual vigor as he followed the Hospitaler along saying little other then to affirm any controversial decision being made. Sir Simon sulked since he was not invited to be involved in the preparations and positively refused the offer of honing his fighting skills or taking one of the companies formed. He would fight in his own style and as he saw fit.

And Bronwyn watched it all happen.

The third day the attackers arrived with much pomp and ceremony. Pennants flying and cavalry to the front, a pair of drummers beat a cadence for the Duke of Lysander and his personal guard to come forward. Wearing a combination of black chain and plate mail armor the dark featured man was an intimidating figure.

The whole of the Baron's garrison beat to arms, not that James expected attack but so that the men could get their initial jitters aside by seeing what they were facing. So with men on the walls the standoff began.

The Duke looked at the defenses and sniffed the air contemptuously. Motioning to his waiting troops they fanned out menacingly in an impressive display of force in front of the main gate to the castle.

"Sir Walter Fitzralph, Baron of Heddon, I have no grievance with you and desire things to not come to blows," the Duke's deep bass voice boomed. "But I charge you, under the orders of the King of Navarre, to give up the child you are holding. She needs to be among her people. I assure you no harm will come to her."

Sir Walter gulped and looked very pale. He knew he was in way over his head and wasn't sure what to do. The man's offer seemed sincere, why would he risk everything he held dear and the people who looked to him for leadership for something not his business? This could be over with little difficulty to anyone, he thought to himself. Besides, he said the Princess would be safe.

He felt the reassuring hand of James Stewart on his shoulder and suddenly his back stiffened. He knew what the usurper king of Navarre was and the value of this nobleman's word. The Baron felt shame for even considering it. He shuddered to think what he'd have done if Sir Simon had been in the place of the Hospitaler.

"King of Navarre? I don't recognize one," the Baron's voice boomed back, louder then he'd expected. "There is only a usurper to the throne and a murderer who has no right to make such a claim."

The boldness of the statement caused more than one head to turn and see who had just shot back such a challenge.

The Duke opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

"And why are you, an English nobleman, doing the bidding of a foreign monarch?" the Baron challenged. "Have you turned mercenary and abandoned your vow of chivalry? You would come here, to my domain to take a child, by force if necessary, for some foreign master. What kind of man are you?"

A murmur of ascent went along the walls of the castle at their lord's courageous words and a growl of anger rose up from along the other.

The Duke turned beet red and his eyes narrowed. Several of his men-at-arms and officers looked to see how he would respond to the challenge. The severe looking man took a breath as if to compose himself.

"Very well. Since you refuse to answer my polite request and return my goodwill with insult, you force my hand," the Duke answered through gritted teeth. "But to show you I am no holder of grudges, I give you one hour to surrender the child or I take her by force. You know my reputation Lord Walter and so you know I can accomplish this with little effort." Seeming to relax he added with a broad smile and sweep of a gloved hand, "Save yourself needless anguish and loss, give up the child. You have one hour."

The Duke wheeled around on his horse and returned to his force which sat just outside arrow range.

"Malcolm, check the men in their positions," James ordered. "Have them rest on their arms but stay where they are and stay ready."

The faithful Sergeant-at-arms nodded and went off to check on their troops.

Sir Simon, who had stood silently with them, on the battlements of the main gatehouse, finally spoke up. "Why have them stay in position? We have an hour, best to let the men rest and be refreshed." The nobleman looked around then said in a voice that carried throughout the area, "Besides, they're on the verge of panic anyway. They're exhausted after the way you've pushed them the last few days. Lord Walter, come, enough of this foolish madness. Let's have some common sense." Sensing a wavering of the gentle, timid Baron the smooth nobleman pressed in. "Let us parlay with this man. Negotiate. This need not come to blows."

James watched the Baron waver and knew things stood in the lurch. He looked in the direction of Durham to the east and shook his head slightly. More and more his pledge seemed to be slipping away. He had every reason to go but could not bring himself to do so. The drama of the current situation had drawn him in and the pledge he'd made to a little girl growing in power. He wanted to speak but knew he needed to wait for the other to find his resolve.

"Sir James, what is your opinion on this matter?" the Baron asked him desperately.

James Stewart was taken to the walls of Jerusalem and a similar conversation he'd had with Balian. But what a different man that stood before him. With Balian there was strength, commitment, courage. With this one…a deficit. But then the Hospitaler thought more reflectively, looking harder at the man who sought his counsel and he saw something: a grain of determination. His course was again set: to support one who carried a heavy burden.

"You know the character and reputation of the one who stands before us my Lord," James answered. "Can you negotiate with one such as this? I doubt it but I say wait out the hour and see how he responds. The man will show his true nature and we'll know where we stand."

The Baron smiled, his face visibly easing from the stress-filled mask he'd worn. Puffing out his chest he affirmed, "Yes, let's wait and see what this man shows us."

Less then fifteen minutes later, as if a prophetic declaration, an alarm was raised from the opposite end of the castle.

"Alric, take charge of this position, archers ready," James barked out. "Nothing approaches the wall again, do you understand?" the Hospitaler ordered to the Baron's chief man-at-arms then he raced along the walkway to where the shouts of alarm had come from. Before he reached the position he could see the cause: a party of the Duke's men had tried to creep out of the woods on the north side of the castle with ladders. Malcolm directed the actions of the two archers he had in position while the other men prepared to repel. Several crossbowmen from the Duke's force covered the approach as they neared the wall.

Drawing his sword James charged along the wall to rally the outnumbered men. Picking up his pace he called for one man in three to join him as he passed until he reached the critical point of attack.

"They came out of the woods in a rush sir catching us off guard," Malcolm reported.

"So much for one hour," James replied. ""Staves ready, rocks ready," he ordered as a crossbow bolt whizzed past his head. "Stay down and wait for my signal."

Only James Stewart stood, defiant of the missiles being shot at him, waiting for the right moment.

Four ladders were pushed against the wall and the Duke's men began to scramble up them.

"Now!" James commanded.

Instantly, the troops on the wall sprang into action as they'd practiced time and again the past several days. Two men took specially-prepared hooked staves and pushed the ladders away from the wall. Soldiers screamed in panic as they suddenly found themselves plummeting to the ground below. Then another group of men took stones and tossed them down on those waiting below. In less then a minute what had looked like an unstoppable force was scrambling back into the woods in disarray.

A spontaneous cheer erupted from the wall as the men suddenly realized they could win. Then they looked at their leader, the one who they'd cursed for pushing them so hard the past few days and their cheers went up for him.

"Well done men," James congratulated the defenders. Then he turned to Malcolm and gave orders. "Hold the position, have the men stay low but ready. I'll report to the Baron."

In a few moments the Hospitaler was back at the main gate to report to the anxious Baron who had heard the sound of battle.

"What happened?" Lord Walter blurted out. "What was that we heard?"

"The Duke's forces tried a surprise rush of the north wall. They came close but your men were able to successfully repel them with no injury on our part."

"They…he…," the Baron struggled to process what he'd just heard. In his mind, he couldn't fathom what had just happened. The Duke had given them an hour to answer his challenge and it was nowhere close to that time. He'd broken his word, worse still, he'd used the lull to try to take his castle by surprise. The treachery of this nobleman made his stomach queasy. Shock turned to anger and for the second time that day the Baron of Heddon's subjects saw this side of the man.

"By thunder," he exploded, "that's what your word is worth?" Lord Walter wasn't sure the Duke could hear him but he didn't care. He knew who he was dealing with so there would be no negotiation. "Take this keep, if you can, and prove yourself a man!"

Though there was no acknowledgement from their opponent, as if the Duke had heard the challenge the attacking force marched off a short distance and prepared to make camp while setting out a screen of piquet's to watch the castle.

There was no discussion as the one hour mark passed. The table set, the contest was ready to begin in earnest.

James had the men stand down but left a strong guard on the walls. The rest would stay under arms but he knew they had a reprieve as the Duke dug in and prepared for an attack in earnest. The earlier action had only been an attempt to test the Baron's resolve. The next time they saw their attacker it would be for real.

Non-combatants started to come out of the protection of the keep among them was Lady Bronwyn and the Princess Rebekah along with her servant.

James could not avoid the trio who seemed to be waiting for him at the foot of the stairs to the gatehouse.

"Sir James, may we have a word with you?" Bronwyn asked respectfully. The Princess Rebekah has a question that I knew you were the best one to answer."

The petite little girl stepped forward. "Are these men going to hurt me?" she asked, fright evident in her young eyes.

The Hospitaler glanced angrily at Bronwyn frustrated that she would set him up in this type of position. But then he saw fear in her blue eyes as well and realized it was not just the Princess who sought comfort. She too wanted it and they'd come to him. That took him aback. He pushed the thought from his mind as Rebekah stood before him, expectantly.

"Not as long as I draw breath," James assured her. "No harm will come to you." Then trying to calm her fears he said with a feigned smile, "Run along to your wing and play. Don't bother yourself with the words of foolish men. I'll be along to see you presently."

The Princess gave him a hug then skipped off. James stiffened and prayed he could keep the pledge

Bronwyn's attractive face lit up in a smile at the scene. There was something about this blunt man that she found compelling, like one of the puzzles from her childhood that had drawn her in. Though hard and somewhat course she was seeing underneath a compassion she'd never met in men of his profession. Then there were his sad eyes. They were an unread book promising to unlock the mystery of this enigmatic man.

For his part James continued to be irritated by the precocious lady of the castle. She was constantly about, especially when he wanted to spend time with the Princess, watching him, judging him he felt. Her callous words at the banquet still burned inside and the perceived insincerity of her apology to him only made it worse. She represented everything he hated about this land… Bronwyn Fitzralph…Lady Bronwyn! The preening woman who used her considerable beauty like a weapon disgusted him. Then there was her simpering suitor, Sir Simon. Sir? The Hospitaler wondered how many backsides he had to kiss to achieve that title…likely born into it he thought. The two were perfect for each other. The sooner he could win this contest and be away from this place the better.


	10. Chapter 9: hold the line!

Chapter 9–Hold the line!

The following day James again had his entire force on the walls. While he had men facing all directions he kept the bulk of his forces below, ready to respond to the main attack. The Duke of Lysander didn't have a big enough force to totally invest the castle nor did the Hospitaler have enough to properly defend in all directions so it would come down to a chess match of move and counter-move.

The bulk of the day was taken up with a series of maneuvers on the part of the Duke as he probed the defenses looking for weaknesses. Other then a few men wounded it was an inconclusive day.

As the action for the day drew to a close the Baron came out from the keep with Sir Simon in tow. He arrived in a jovial mood. "So, our attacker seems to have little stomach for a fight," he declared hopefully.

Malcolm grunted derisively but said nothing.

"There was no real action today, my Lord," James responded more diplomatically. "He was testing our defenses, getting his bearings. Tomorrow, or the next day, he will attack in earnest.

Those were prophetic words.

The morning of the second day, as the sun rose above the trees the Duke's men rushed from the woods near the same north wall they'd attacked the first day with ladders in hand ready to assault the wall. James had men ready to respond. Along with several of his scarce archers he prepared to receive the assault while observing the scene from the top of keep giving him a good vantage point to observe the attack unfold. Waiting below in the courtyard was his reserve force but he delayed committing them. As he watched the ladders approach the wall something didn't sit right with him. It was as if they approached almost in state of indecision.

"What are you waiting for man?" Sir Simon screamed at James, breaking his concentration. "They'll be on us and onto the ramparts in moments. We must reinforce or all is lost."

James opened his mouth to give the order. The men below stiffened, ready to go since they could hear the din of battle to the north. But the Hospitaler hesitated, pondering the situation.

Finally, after a painfully long moment for those awaiting instructions he spoke. "Malcolm, take three of our men and one archer. Hold that position," James ordered, keeping his main force at bay.

"Are you stupid?" Sir Simon spat out. "Five men? That's not enough. If you keep waiting the whole place will be lost. Make up your mind and do…"

"Silence!" James thundered. "You're not in charge here, I am. The men move when I say they do and when I'm ready for them to move. Get a grip on yourself and stop panicking."

The handsome noble turned red with rage and it looked like he might try to strike James with his sword.

"Ladders on the wall sir!" a call came from the defenders, informing the Hospitaler of what was happening. Still he waited, not satisfied with what he was seeing though beginning to doubt his instinct. The clamor of battle rose adding to the sense of urgency as a fight began in earnest in the disputed area.

"Sir! Enemy approaching from the south to the main gate," a soldier yelled frantically. To punctuate the point another man toppled off the walkway to the courtyard below with a crossbow bolt embedded in his neck.

The Hospitaler shifted position to observe the main gate and saw why he'd held his force back. The assault on the north had been a feint, for streaming down the road with ladders and a massive battering ram was the bulk of the Duke's forces.

"Alric," he called down immediately to the force below, "take the men to the south wall and prepare for the attack. Keep your heads down until they approach. I'll meet you there."

The soldiers ran to the steps of the wall, knowing there was no time to waste.

"Come Simon, the contest will be decided at the gate. Let's go and support the men there."

The Hospitaler began to move but noticed the brightly dressed noble wasn't moving. Instead he seemed to be wilting. He gave the man a sharp look.

"And who will look after the Baron and his daughter? Who will defend the Princess?" Simon responded haughtily.

"Very well," James replied, not wanting to get into a debate, "do what you think is best."

He sprinted off, leaving the protesting man behind.

In moments the Hospitaler was at the main gate. He'd watched the attack unfold on the north and was comfortable the assault was not being conducted with any urgency so the men there could hold easily. He arrived and saw the men cowering behind the battlements as crossbow bolts buzzed through the air.

"Up men up,' he called down the line, standing tall. "Time to look our attacker in the eye. We fight for love and honor against an attacker who comes for mere pay. Show them what the men of Heddon are made of"

The encouragement seemed to do the trick. The archers in the bastions on either end of the south wall began to fire into the approaching forces along with those in the gatehouse as men-at-arms rose as one with shouts and oaths. As the Duke's forces approached the curtain wall James cursed the Baron again for not having a proper moat around his castle instead of then the shallow dry ditch that provided little impediment.

The ladders drew closer but the bigger concern was the large battering ram being moved into position to batter the main gate. Though the portcullis was down, reinforcing it, the gateway would not hold. He directed fire from his archers to try to down the carriers but a phalanx of men with shields kept them covered so the ram approached unimpeded.

Reaching the doors in short order it began to rhythmically bang away. If the gate was breached all would be lost. The men on the walls were doing a good job of keeping the ladders at bay but that seemed only to be designed to distract enough soldiers to allow the ram to do its job.

"Bring the cauldron!" James ordered to a pair of men tending a fire in the covered area of the gatehouse. With gloved hands they waddled over with a huge steaming pot to where the Hospitaler stood. As they approached he deftly opened a grate in the floor of the gatehouse tower to reveal a good-sized murder hole looking straight down at the gate.

"Now, give them something for breakfast," he instructed the pair who proceeded to dump a cauldron of boiling pitch through the hole onto the battering ram party below.

The results were instant.

Screams of agony and pain cascaded from below. The men dropped the ram fleeing in any direction they could, the pitch burning their skin. James then dropped a small torch down the hole catching the battering ram on fire. The ensuing blaze caught the Duke's men off guard. With a renewed attack from above and the fear of more boiling liquid they too fled to the safety of their lines. The attack had been broken.

This time though there were no cheers from the walls. Several of the defenders lay dead and a number more were wounded. Though a good number of the Duke's men were down or crawling wounded to safety the reality of what was unfolding seemed to finally hit home.

The fight seemed to be taken out of the Duke so other then some probes and harassing fire from his archers for the most part the remainder of the day was quiet. The day ended as the sun fell behind the forest housing the Duke's force. Heddon Castle had stood another day.

"Well done Sir James!" Lord Walter cried pounding on the table in his study as the report of the day's activities was given. "We seem to have them on the run."

"We've had a favorable start, my Lord," James replied carefully, "but this is only the beginning of the siege. "Your men fought well and with discipline."

"Thanks to you," the Baron added. "We all owe you a big debt."

Sir Simon who stood off in the corner with a goblet of wine in his hand and sour look on his face snorted.

The Hospitaler ignored the sarcastic noble and also resisted the urge to ask him what he'd been doing during the battle. Instead, he responded, "Your man Alric deserves a share of the credit. He's worked tirelessly and the men from the village have exerted themselves very well. You can be proud of them all."

Sir Simon cleared his throat to get the attention of the pair. "This is well and good," he declared in a high tone, "but the Duke needs only stay back and maintain a siege. He can starve us out since our provisions are low and there are many mouths to feed."

The negative statement seemed to deflate the Baron's enthusiasm. James glared at the smirking man but instead of lashing out like he wanted he countered the contention.

"I don't think he'll do that," he said quietly.

"Oh, why not?" Sir Simon shot back.

"For one, he doesn't have enough men to properly invest this castle. There are gaps in his line we could exploit to obtain supplies. Plus, he's come with a very modest supply train. He's in this for profit, not for passion so he'll not be wanting to spend gold to keep his army supplied. No, he's hoping for a quick victory. If we can hold him at bay I think we can break his will for this fight."

"Here! Here!" the Baron of Heddon thundered, again pounding his desk in enthusiastic agreement. "That's what I want to hear, optimism Simon. We will prevail!"

The now sour-faced nobleman gave a curt bow and excused himself from the room while the Baron and Hospitaler continued their discussions.

The following day a series of lightning fast attacks were launched at various locations on the castle. The chess match became a game of cat and mouse as each commander tried to anticipate where the other would place his scarce resources. Both leaders knew they didn't have the manpower or resources for a full-on attack so the swift movement of their men became the strategy. Move and counter-move became the order of the day and hour after hour men rushed about, trumpets sounded, alarms were raised throughout the hot, sunny day.

But the advantage was with the defenders.

With shorter lanes of travel they were able to move quickly to whatever point was threatened while the Duke's men had to make wide sweeping, movements. By the end of the day each side pulled back, exhausted, the stalemate still in place.

"How are the men fairing?" James asked Malcolm and Alric as he received their reports.

"Three more dead and nine wounded, sir," Alric reported, "three of the wounded won't be able to make it back to the walls anytime soon."

"And their casualties?"

"Many more than ours Sir James," Malcolm declared. "We're taking the fight out of them I think."

"I agree. Their morale has to be weakening," the Hospitaler commented. "But this is the crucial stage, we must stay strong and even more importantly, give the perception of strength. We need to take their heart."

Just over a mile away, in the Duke of Lysander's camp, he received his reports with a less then enthusiastic air. As his wounded men lay about untreated and dead were being buried near the latrines, the dark mood of their dark-featured leader reflected that of his men.

"This is damned madness!" he screamed at his unfortunate officers. "We should have stove in this dog kennel yesterday," he declared. "What's the meaning of this incompetence?"

"The men are doing the best they can, your Grace," one of his officers replied, not making eye contact.

"The best they can?" the explosive leader spat out, grabbing the unfortunate man and lifting him off his feet. "If they'd done their best I'd be in this fat Baron's keep emptying his wine cellar." He threw the man across the marquee tent crashing unceremoniously against a pole.

"It's not the Baron who leads, your Grace," another officer reported catching his leader's attention. "We've seen a man wearing the device of the Knights Hospitaler managing the defenses."

"A Hospitaler, here?" a suddenly vexed Duke responded.

"Aye, there is indeed," a pock-mark faced man coming out of the shadows answered.

"Is this the one you talked of Griffon?" the Duke asked his trusted bodyguard. "Is he the one who ruined your fun with the Baron's daughter before we arrived?"

"One and the same," the man responded bitterly.

"Do we know who he is or what his motivation is?"

"I can think of a motivation and it comes in a green velvet gown," Griffon answered crudely.

The others laughed derisively then went back to their preparations for the next day.

Both sides nursed their wounds, resting through the evening. It became a time for reflection, yet an unease hung in the air, like a burr or some form of agitation. James felt it, the tension overwhelming. He was like a caged lion. Then a thought crossed his mind, a solution that in the past would have been automatic. Hot tears filled his eyes at how far he'd sunk, at how he'd changed, at how he'd allowed hurt, pain and bitterness to fill his spirit. He knew what he needed to do.

Walking into the castle's chapel he knelt down, crossed himself and said a quick prayer to prepare for entry into the main hall of the place of worship. Stepping through the carved oak archway he stopped as if running into a wall. Standing up after being in prayer in the front row was the Lady Bronwyn. He wanted to turn and run, be someplace else, but he was held in place.

She saw him standing in the shadows as she turned and began to leave. Bronwyn's face turned red with embarrassment for a reason she couldn't explain. The usually confident noblewoman couldn't even look him in the eyes.

"Milady," James greeted her politely as she approached, "I did not mean to interrupt. I will leave so you may have your privacy."

"No Sir James, please stay," she responded awkwardly, without her usual brashness, "it was no interruption. I've finished and was just leaving."

"You were praying?" the Hospitaler asked in surprise, never expecting to see the woman in a place such as this.

Bronwyn could see the surprise in the man's face. She too was surprised for she hadn't been in chapel except for required functions for years, certainly never voluntarily. Yet at one time she had believed…deeply. But much had changed in the last ten-day and she found herself beginning to believe again in many things.

""Yes, I was praying about our situation," she confessed, brushing lightly past the powerful man. Then as she was about to exit the chapel added, "and thanking God for bringing you here."

Stunned at the declaration, James couldn't reply as darkness swallowed up the willowy woman. He knew he would not sleep this night. Conceding defeat to the turmoil boiling within he spent the time in prayer and vigil at the chapel, something he hadn't done in years. The following morning, as dawn's first light broke, rather then being exhausted as he'd expected James had a vigor and spring in his step he'd not experienced for several years. He felt refreshed and renewed.

Striding purposefully towards Malcolm, who waited on the ramparts, the observant Scotsman noticed something different too. "Sir?" he asked in surprised confusion, not knowing what to say.

"Good morning Sir James!"

Any potential conversation was interrupted by the jovial greeting from Lord Walter who sauntered towards them wearing mail armor with a sword on his waist.

"My Lord, what are you doing here?" a surprised Hospitaler responded, watching the Baron walk towards his position at the main gatehouse.

"Its time I came out of hiding and aided in the defense of my own home," he answered. "I hope that's not a problem."

"Of course not," James lied, fearing the jovial man would get in the way. He looked closer at the sword and saw it was not his usual jeweled one but instead a plain, but functional looking, long sword. "We would be honored to have your company. Three cheers for the Baron men…"

Before that could happen a shout of alarm came from the north wall.

"Movement in the woods Sir."

"Malcolm, take a dozen men and bolster that position, it looks like they're starting early," he ordered immediately.

Less then five minutes later he saw that it had been a ruse. Coming out of the morning fog in a flat-out run appeared to be the whole of the Duke's forces. Carrying ladders and grappling hooks they made it to the walls in short order and immediately began scaling. There was no caution, no hesitation. This was an attempt to quickly overrun the gatehouse and it had worked. Before the Baron's men could respond the attackers swarmed over the walls like ants and began to push the stunned defenders aside.

"Rally men, rally to me!" James yelled out hoping they wouldn't break, all the while cursing himself for getting caught unprepared. He'd allowed himself a respite and now it seemed it would cost them dearly. He drew his sword and charged into the mass of attackers, praying all the way that this would not be the case, that the time he'd spent would not be their downfall but would in fact lead to liberation for them all.


	11. Chapter 10: precipice

Chapter 10 – Precipice

The sound of metal clashing against metal, grunting, curses and screams filled the misty morning as the two sides fought desperately for control of the vital part of the castle. There was no more pretense, maneuver or tactics. This was a straight-out fight to the end.

Though the Duke of Lysander's troops had the initial advantage the Baron's men firmed up and didn't break. Rallying to the Hospitaler their resolve stiffened and the line held. Desperate to not see their castle overrun, they fought back ferociously particularly guarding the area leading to the stairs down to the gate.

But the numeric advantage and greater skill of the attackers began to wear down the defenders. James could do the math as he traded blows with a stocky mace-wielding assailant. His whole force was committed. Malcolm and the other men were tied down at the south wall so he had nothing to call up. The Duke though had a large force milling down near the main gate ready to surge in. The only thing that kept the defenders in the fight was that the area they fought in now was filled with thrashing men. With little room to move it meant the fighting was limited and most resorted to vicious wrestling matches.

The Duke's men seemed to grow frustrated by the stalemate so instead of continuing the fight for the stairs they began to press out to engage their superior numbers. If they could control the whole of the platform, pushing the defenders to the curtain walls, they'd win by default.

James shifted to respond keeping them in check but again numbers worked against him. Then the Hospitaler saw a situation unfolding in the corner of the gatehouse that caused him to forget everything else he was doing and fight desperately toward it. He could not allow this to happen, he would not.

Bronwyn awoke not only to the sounds of battle but frighteningly closer then she'd expected. Flying to her window the sight brought her hand to her mouth in a gasp of shock and fear. Looking across the courtyard to the gatehouse opposite the keep she saw it swarming with men, desperately fighting for control. Though she had no military mind she was smart enough to know that if this part fell the whole castle would go with it.

Others in the castle realized this too and she saw old men and young boys grab whatever they could use as a weapon and run to join the fight. They would not give up their home without standing. Pride filled her heart for those who only days earlier she would have given little thought to. She'd learned much. Despite the horror of combat she stood transfixed watching with an almost detached curiosity what unfolded before her eyes.

Then she saw her father.

Lord Walter, with gleaming mail armor and sword in hand stood behind several of his men, yelling encouragement to them. He had never been a warrior so her first thought was how foolish he looked out there fighting but then a pride that he would do something so out of character filled her. Then to her horror she saw the two men who guarded him go down under a vicious assault and suddenly her father was alone and surrounded by a pressing enemy.

James had successfully organized the men into several pockets. The strongest was around the stairs leading to the courtyard effectively sealing the gatehouse. He knew more men milled below, waiting for the gate to be opened. If that happened they were doomed. But he was confident they could hold this strong position and wear down their opponent. Then he saw the Baron. The man had gotten separated from the main body with several of his men and now stood isolated. He could see what was about to happen.

Grabbing a couple of his own men James commanded, "Come with me," and then waded into the mass of attackers blocking his way. "Alric, hold this spot at all costs," he yelled back. Then he saw the Baron's guards go down under the onslaught.

"Father!" Bronwyn screamed in horror, though no one could hear her. She wanted to do something, do anything, but she couldn't, she was transfixed by the scene and her own fright so all she could do was watch.

The Baron of Heddon put up a spirited fight, better then had been expected, driving two men away but age, lack of skill and time worked against him. Others pressed in and his defenses were battered away. A glancing blow to the head sent him spinning, dazed, to the stone floor of the gatehouse rendering him totally vulnerable.

Bronwyn screamed again fearing what she was about to witness then she saw Sir James. The Hospitaler fought like a man possessed, a whirlwind of destructive activity cutting a path over to her father. He slashed hard with his great sword taking one down then punching forward with the hilt to knock another aside. He blocked a high blow then countered with a slash across the mid-section, kicking another away.

Those who faced the Baron saw the metal cyclone coming and moved to face him. James took a slash to the shoulder but kept on charging. Nothing would stop him from saving the lord of the castle. In his wake three of his men fought to watch his back. They made it to Lord Walter and formed a defensive circle around him, allowing the Baron to regain his faculties and get shakily to his feet.

James didn't feel the blow that cut deeply into his shoulder. Adrenaline kept him going towards his objective of freeing the Baron. The man had fought well, better then he'd expected, but his luck had run out. The Hospitaler and his men made it to the fallen lord setting up a defensive circle around him.

But their situation was desperate.

Too many of their force was down or broken up by the sudden attack. They didn't have enough men to push back and could hold for only so long. The day was lost. Yet he was at peace. If he were to die here he knew it was for something worthwhile.

For too long James Stewart had been focusing on the negatives of his life, the things that had gone wrong. Yet he should have died in Jerusalem years ago. The time he'd been given after that siege had been a gift and he'd been blessed by it. Yes, the last few years had been hard, but he knew where he was going. All these thoughts went through his head as he fought off one attacker after another. Despite the chaos around him he felt at peace and even managed a smile.

Searing pain banished the peaceful smile as the Hospitaler felt the bite of a stiletto knife deep into his already wounded shoulder.

"Ruin my sport will ye priest?" a pock-mark faced man whispered into his ear from behind. "I told ye I'd be back and get even. Well, its payback time."

Griffon, the Duke's personal bodyguard, had come up the ladders with the second wave of attackers and had been watching from the periphery. But then he's seen the Hospitaler fight his way over to the Baron and knew his opportunity for revenge had come. Working his way through the flow of battle he stealthily moved into position to strike. Unable to reach the man who had interfered with his animal desires with Bronwyn he pushed two of his own men into the way of the Hospitaler's sword to gain his advantage and move behind his quarry. Rather then use his great sword he'd first stabbed the man in the shoulder to debilitate him in order to enjoy the kill. James was occupied with two men to his front allowing the bodyguard a free shot from the rear.

Griffon paused for a moment to add, "Oh, and not to worry. When I'm finished with you I'll be looking up that pretty daughter of the Baron. We have some unfinished business."

James situation was desperate. If he moved to protect his rear, he'd be skewered by the men in front. But if he did nothing, the man at his rear would kill him in this cowardly fashion. He wasn't afraid to die, in some ways he welcomed it. But then Griffon made the comment about Bronwyn and something stirred within. He went from white acceptance to red rage. In the millisecond it went through his mind he didn't understand why it mattered so much.

But it did.

In a lightning swift action he pivoted to the left while holding the two attackers off with his sword bringing his elbow back to crash into the advancing Griffon's temple. The big man saw stars, crumpling to the stone floor. James kicked him in the midriff while holding his own against the other of the Duke's men. Griffon, weapons lost, crawled away, grabbing one of his men to provide cover. He made it to a ladder, inched down painfully, and left the field of battle.

Bronwyn missed the whole sub-drama since it had happened in mere seconds. All she saw was the Hospitaler and his men protecting her father and so began to weep uncontrollably. She could see the desperate circumstance they were in, the mathematical certainly of what was about to happen, that her father would ultimately fall despite their efforts in the end. But that was not why she wept. She wept that these men who had a choice and could have protected themselves instead protected him.

The door burst open interrupting her revelations. Sir Simon charged into the room. "Come Bronwyn, the castle is breeched. There's not a moment to spare. We still have time to flee through the salley port and escape before it's too late."

He grabbed her arm to pull her away from the window but found she would not move. Instead she wheeled around, fire in her shocked eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she spat out.

The handsome noble was taken aback. What….what do you mean? I'm here to save you."

"Save me?" she responded incredulously. "And save yourself! Why aren't you on the wall with the others?"

Sir Simon was taken aback by the accusatory tone. "There's no point. I am only one man. What possible benefit could there be to me being out there right now with the others. If I were I would be in no position to help you."

Bronwyn's face showed genuine anger at the response. She opened her mouth to speak but checked herself. She looked from the nobleman, to the window and back to him. "I am not leaving this castle," she declared defiantly. "I don't know what you're about but the Lady of Heddon does not abandon those fighting for her home."

Bronwyn then ran past the man crying in frustrated anguish to go where he had no idea.

James knew the wound on his shield side was severe. Not only did it throb like the pounding of hammer on anvil but he had no strength in it anymore. His sword arm ached from the force of the blows he'd been giving and also absorbing. So far he held his own but there were too many. He would fail the Princess, but he would see his family again.

But then a new sound rose above the sound of battle. It was the sound of cheering. Then his attackers began to tumble aside in a wave of old men with mallets and hammers along with young boys bearing farm implements and other sharp objects led by Vyncent, Lord Walter's steward.

The sheer number and their enthusiasm broke the will of the attackers. Unsure of what to do against the new threat the Duke's men paused and that proved to be their fatal mistake for the new array would have melted at the first sign of resistance.

But not this day.

These supposed non-combatants had witnessed their Lord fight, they'd seen the determination of the Hospitaler and so no one who would call himself a man stayed out of the fight. Honor would not allow it.

The Duke's men sensed this and it sucked the life from them. Frantically they tried to re-establish themselves but to no avail but in truth their hearts were no longer in the fight. Their advantage had been checked and the reality of what they fought for, pay and the fear of their master was trumped by the desire to save themselves. The attackers fought their way back to the ladders and grapple hooks on the side of the wall, scrambled over to the ground below and with the bulk of their force that had waited for the gate to open fled into the morning, dragging whatever wounded they could.

The men of Heddon stood on the walls and cheered themselves hoarse. Certainty of defeat had been changed into steadfast resolution. They'd faced the fearsome enemy and had prevailed. More importantly, they'd faced the more dangerous foe of their own fear and broken it too.

All of this was lost on James. The pain of his wound and fatigue of the fight caused him to slump to one knee on the floor. Hanging his head in exhaustion he gulped air into his burning lungs despite the chill of the morning. He was ready to go, ready to be done. Though his mind couldn't register it he knew instinctively they'd somehow won and the Princess was safe. He smiled again at the thought and began to let himself go. It was time to go to his family.

Then he felt himself being pulled to his feet, and the thought went away.

Shaking his head to get rid of the fog James saw Lord Walter himself helping him up. The Baron had a strange though concerned look on his face.

"You saved my life," he acknowledged quietly.

"You fought well my Lord," James replied weakly, "the day is yours."

"No, the day is yours Sir James."

The Hospitaler then became aware of the cheering mob of soldiers and civilians milling around him and the Baron, unbridled joy and pride evident on all their battle-dirty faces.

"If not for you we would have fallen and I…I would have been…," Lord Walter hesitated as the reality of his words sunk in. "Thank you," he declared, grabbing the startled Hospitaler in a bear hug.

James winced at the embrace but then felt a gentle touch on his arm. He looked to see Bronwyn standing beside him, her own ornate silk handkerchief pressed against his bloody wound, totally unconcerned with what happened to the delicate and valuable accessory. Tears stained her cheek and her eyes glistened. "You saved my father," she whispered.

"I did what anyone would have done," he responded, head beginning to swim.

"I watched from the keep. You did what no other could have." Then, without thinking of her clothing, protocol, or their past, she grabbed and hugged him tenderly. "Thank you."

James, overcome by the moment, collapsed unconscious into her arms.


	12. Chapter 11: countermeasures

Chapter 11: Counter Measures

"We attack."

"Are you crazy?" Sir Simon choked at the suggestion. "We have too few men to do something that stupid."

"We go at night, strike fast and strike hard," James declared with determination. "We'll be back before they know what hit and leave them with something more to be concerned about. Besides, we need to do something to break this stalemate."

"But your condition? You're still recovering from your wounds," the Baron pointed out.

"They'll not slow me down," the Hospitaler answered, praying that would be true. "Besides, if this works it'll end the siege."

"Aye, now that's what I'm talking about," Malcolm declared, pounding his fist into his hand for emphasis. "Time we got off our duffs and took the fight to this popinjay."

Alric nodded his head emphatically in agreement. The Baron's chief man-at-arms had been truly transformed over the past few days. Despite receiving two wounds he continued to grow in confidence.

"I still say it's too great a risk," Sir Simon countered. "If this fails we'll be even more vulnerable."

All eyes turned to the Baron.

Lord Walter smiled at the suggestion and clapped his hands together. He really was a different man. "I like it. A bold stroke to be sure but one that just might work. What do you need from us?"

James could still hardly believe what was happening. How many hours had it been since he'd been wounded? Four maybe? All he remembered was waking up in his bed with Bronwyn looking over him. The moment was both exquisite and disturbing at the same time. The look on her face showed more then concern and his response to that realization had caused him a high degree of uncertainty. Could he feel for another? Was this not showing disloyalty to Jamila? An involuntary groan welled up from deep within. Bronwyn, misinterpreting the cause, gave him a sip of wine to try to ease the pain. He knew he couldn't lay there a moment longer, despite the pain and fatigue. If he stayed he'd loose all momentum and perhaps even his sense of purpose.

He needed action.

So painfully dragging himself from bed, despite Bronwyn's protests, he made his way to see the shocked Lord Walter and present the scheme that had been on his mind for several days. With the noblewoman following, he made his was unsteadily to the Baron's study.

The plan was simple. During the night he would lead a select group of men-at-arms to raid the Duke's camp. The key would be to do as much damage as they could, expose their attacker's vulnerability and return to the castle before a response could be organized. Destruction was not the chief goal, demoralizing the enemy and revealing their vulnerability was.

While explaining the plan James wobbled slightly and Bronwyn was there to steady him with a strong yet delicate touch. Instead of pulling back James allowed the woman to hold his arm in hers for a beautiful instant before a sense of renewed guilt caused him to gently pull away. Before he returned to the order of business he could not help but catch the look the pair received from Sir Simon. Though he feigned indifference a fire of rage burned in his eyes as he watched Bronwyn then the Hospitaler.

"I'll take my men and Alric along with five that he will pick from the garrison," James responded, not allowing himself to be distracted by the pompous nobleman's jealousy.

"And who will defend the castle if you take the officers?" Simon shot back before thinking through the potential damage of the question. In one sentence he declared his own abilities and even more damaging, that of the Baron to be wanting.

The portly Lord Walter looked down in shame and embarrassment at the truth of the statement. Bronwyn gulped involuntarily at the slight. An awkward silence invaded the room.

"Is there any question of this Sir Simon?" James shot back without missing a beat. "The Baron of Heddon will defend his keep in our absence."

Both father and daughter looked up at the man with a mixture of thanks and affection for the firm declaration while the brightly dressed nobleman shrank back from the conversation.

"Indeed I will," the Baron's voice boomed in the room, renewed and reinvigorated. "When do you propose to execute this scheme?"

"Tonight."

Lord Walter choked and Bronwyn turned pale.

"Tonight?" the Baron answered in surprise. "Is there enough time to prepare?"

James opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Bronwyn.

"And what of your condition? Are you up for this? I mean, are you strong enough?" she asked, fear evident in her voice. Then she added the words that caused James to start and Simon to barely suppress an oath: "We'd be lost without you."

The Hospitaler paused for a moment to consider the implications of the statements. Initial irritation at the perceived interference from the noblewoman quickly melted away when he saw the look in her expressive eyes. This was not a haughty lack of conviction as he had expected from her but rather a genuine concern based in affection.

"Yes, it has to be tonight," James answered, trying not to think of the implications of Bronwyn's declaration. "The Duke is reeling and won't be expecting a counter-attack. This is the knock-out punch. And yes," he paused to allow his voice to soften a bit as he looked at the ashen-faced woman, "I must go. It's my plan and I cannot allow another to do something I'm unwilling to, regardless of my condition."

He gave the woman a slight smile and noticed her eyes well up with tears but she said nothing in rebuttal.

The Baron bowed his head in homage to the character being displayed before him. "Then so be it," he affirmed, "and may God be with you."

Alric, Malcolm, prepare your men," James ordered, the die cast. "We leave in three hours."

The time went by in the blink of an eye. James was a whirlwind of activity, ensuring everything was ready and the men prepared the best they could be. They would leave out the rear salley port. Torches on the wall had been strategically placed hours earlier to cast a deep shadow over the area allowing the party to step out unseen.

As the time to depart approached the men gathered and then waited patiently. The Hospitaler observed that the ones Alric had picked from the garrison would have been his choice also. This was a good man. He reminded himself to talk to the Baron about the unassuming soldier soon.

In preparation, all had their faces blackened with soot from the kitchen fire. None wore armor but instead had on dark leather jerkins so as to not make any noise. Dark cloaks finished off the ensemble.

Lord Walter and Bronwyn waited nervously while an agitated Sir Simon hung around the periphery. Though saying nothing, the trio added to the anxiety and energy of the moment. Theirs was a huge leap of faith in the wisdom of the Hospitaler, a man they'd not met less then two weeks ago.

James was conscious of the trust he'd been shown though he had to block the connotations of it out as he gave his final instructions. "Remember, we move fast and hard. Scatter the horses, destroy their supplies. We take care of any men-at-arms that face us but don't kill any not able to stand against us."

Simon snorted. "That's pretty thick. You have men at your whim and you won't kill them? Brilliant."

The Hospitaler ignored the sarcastic comment but added for those who may be questioning the reason, "Remember, we fight for the greater good. We break no law of chivalry so we will not stoop to the Duke's level. God will be with us." He then, to his own surprise, led them in a short prayer.

Turning to leave he felt the soft pull of Bronwyn on his arm. She looked up at him and though dark he could tell her pretty face was etched with concern. "Do take care of yourself Sir James. Please come back."

He allowed the touch for a moment, almost swooning from the fatigue and pain of his wound before pulling himself together. "I will Milady," he answered gently while pulling back. "Pray for us."

"Good luck," the Baron declared, shaking hands with the men as they began to move, "I wish I could go with you."

James didn't doubt it, looking at the invigorated man.

As the Hospitaler and his party were swallowed up in the inky darkness and the salley port barred again Bronwyn left without a word and headed for the chapel.

James and his men moved silent as mice through the night. It wasn't hard to find the Duke of Lysander's camp. Several large bonfires marked the edge of the encampment. A number of pavilions and tents had been erected for officers and supplies while horses were penned up in a corral. Most of the solders slept out in the open in a disorganized fashion. Only four guards were visible, silhouetted by the fires. They appeared unalert in the early morning hour so no alarm sounded at the approach. Moving from shadow to shadow Malcolm made a swift reconnaissance of the camp to ensure no others were hiding and that no one else stirred. After several tense minutes he returned.

"There are only the four guards," he whispered. "The rest of the camp is unprepared. Most aren't even anywhere near their weapons."

"Good," James whispered back, hardly believing their good fortune. This was even better then he'd hoped for. After doing a quick survey of the camp and deciding what the most appealing targets were he broke the party into three groups led by Alric, Malcolm and himself. Using hand signals to minimize talk in the crisp night air he finalized the details of the plan he'd given them back at the castle. Now it was time to see if it would actually work. This would either take the heart of their enemy or essentially hand the castle over to the Duke. James looked up into the night sky and said a quick prayer. He thought of the Princess, his dead family and surprisingly even Bronwyn in the few moments that he paused. Finally, it was time to act.

"You remember your instructions?" he confirmed. "Move into position and on my signal strike hard. Our rally point is back here. Any questions?"

None came up, nor did he expect any. These men knew what to do and he had every confidence in them. Now, if only no one got up to go to the bathroom!

Alric and his men moved off into the night while James, Malcolm and his men moved to take care of the guards. Stealthily they crept into position, carrying only dirks. Swords would be sheathed for this part. The Sergeant-at-arms and three of the Hospitaler's men slid into position behind the unwary guards and then as one sprung up, catching the soldiers unprepared and noiselessly choked each into unconsciousness. James and the other men covered the action, ensuring no one woke or no alarm could be raised. There was none.

The camp was totally at their mercy.

The Hospitaler used hand signals near the fire to direct his own men into position. He had every confidence Alric and his charges were ready to go. Malcolm was already where he needed to be. He took a deep breath, thinking again of how much had changed recently, then with sword now drawn raised a signal horn to his lips. The blast ripped through the night air and the Duke's camp felt the brunt of the attack.

Malcolm and two men grabbed torches they had been carrying in satchels igniting them at the fires then immediately went to the supply tents and wagons lighting them on fire. Alric and those with him cut the horses loose and chopped down the corral scaring the beasts and chasing them all off into the night. James and his group ran swiftly to the pavilion and cut down all their support ropes, causing the occupants to flounder around encased inside in a sea of canvas.

A few more alert men grabbed weapons and tried to fight but they were quickly cut down by the more alert and prepared men from the castle. But that was the exception. Moving with deadly precision the attackers systematically brought to shambles in a matter of minutes the camp that had seemed so imposing.

James and his men were not the only ones who realized how unprepared and vulnerable the enemy was. Blind panic set into the bulk of the Duke's men at the unexpected attack and so most fled into the darkness in their night clothes not stopping to try to figure out what was going on.

Considering their good fortune and control of the action thus far, James had thought of attempting to capture the Duke. Identifying the brightly colored marquee tent with standard flying out front he moved with his men trailing to attempt this bold stroke. But after the initial panic and flight of most another group quickly organized and rallied around the pavilion. Led by the pock-mark faced man who had stabbed James in the back earlier in the day the force seemed too well organized and situated to try to attack. An attempt to break through the force was met with stiff resistance and James' progress was checked. The Duke's men fought defensively, giving them an advantage.

Malcolm arrived with his men, spoiling to join in the fight. Knowing instinctively what his master was thinking he called out, "Ah come on, we can take them."

But James knew they shouldn't press their luck. The forces were now evenly matched and the longer they stayed the more vulnerable they became. "Come Malcolm, our work here is done," he declared sensibly. "Let's gather our men and get back to the castle before they realize how small a force has attacked them."

So with that, the group fell back in good order from the fight to the rally point. The Duke's men, still in a state of confusion, held their position and didn't attempt any counterattack.

Alric and his party were already waiting for them though a bit anxiously. Checking to ensure everyone was accounted for and with the sounds of shouts and curses in the disoriented camp they allowed a brief moment of congratulations before melting back into the night.


	13. Chapter 12: choices

Chapter 12: choices

There was something about James Stewart that didn't sit right with Simon of Ashington. It was obvious to even a casual observer the nobleman had a disdain for the Hospitaler, he was quick to admit it himself.

But there was something more.

Something nagged at him, something in the back of his mind said that what he saw wasn't adding up. Why was a Knight Hospitaler from Scotland in the North of England? The man had been vague in his answer to the repeated question and then the excitement of the siege had caused everyone to forget the curiosity of it.

That is everyone but Simon.

The nobleman paced about his luxuriously appointed suite in the keep like a caged animal. The finery about him was ignored, as was the threat to those who resided within it. These were totally inferior concerns to his greater, more pressing one. He saw the way Bronwyn had begun gazing at the Scotsman. He also was painfully aware of how she now looked at him especially considering the uncomfortable reality of his unwillingness to face any potential danger. Simon was no coward, or so he thought, his bravery was just painted in a different color. Unfortunately his was not the type of use during the recent siege nor did it cast him in a favorable light. No, he had to do something to show Bronwyn and her father that this Sir James was a fraud. Sure he could fight, any animal could do that. But there was more, there had to be.

Though Simon's family name was well regarded in the north the reality was he had little other then his name and good looks to recommend him. His father had been poor at managing his estate and Simon himself had been even worse. They lived on borrowed funds and so borrowed time. He needed to marry Bronwyn and quick or risk losing the comfort he had come to expect as his right in life. And now this jumped-up priest was beginning to stand in his way.

Something had to be done.

The man wracked his brains as the others planned the night assault trying to figure out why something in the recesses of his mind kept nagging at him. Never one for hard work, physical or mental, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew something was there.

He'd hoped the night assault would fail and the Hospitaler would be discredited or better yet killed or captured. When they returned to the castle in triumph and the sound of disarray was evident in the Duke's camp even at this distance Simon had stormed back into his chamber to sulk. He'd had no such luck. Throwing himself on his bed in a rage the man could not sleep.

Then it came to him.

Regardless of the hour, he charged down to the room of Vyncent, the Baron's steward.

"What is it Sir Simon?" the yawning man asked with irritated respect.

"I need to see the writs issued in the northern shire from the past several years," Simon asked with unusual nervousness.

"And why do you need to see them and why at this hour?" the steward asked suspiciously, suddenly wide awake.

"A theory that I have that I believe will help our cause," the nobleman responded smoothly, believing the statement.

"And it cannot wait?"

"No, time is of the essence," Simon insisted. "Just show me where you keep the records and I will go through them myself." Then to sweeten the request he added, "And you can return to sleep."

Those were the words the steward wanted to hear so with a shrug the nightshirt-clad Vyncent led Simon to his office in the keep. Opening the heavy oak door with a large key the efficient administrator found the documents in short order.

There was a considerable pile.

"And these go back three years?" Simon confirmed.

"Yes," Vyncent answered. "When you're done just leave them on the desk and I will refile them. Enjoy your night."

"Oh I will," Simon whispered, beginning to thumb through the documents looking for what he sought with an evil grin on his face.

Early the next morning Alric and his party moved quickly through the castle gate and the half-dozen men with weapons ready guarding it outside moved efficiently as well. The other half-dozen inside quickly closed and barred the gate while the drawbridge rumbled up. It was a testimony to James' confidence in the Baron's man that he'd allowed him to patrol in the early dawn hours to investigate the state of affairs in their attacker's camp. The Baron, James, Malcolm and it seemed the whole garrison and rest of the castle had turned out to hear the report.

"My Lord," the soldier began, a wide smile growing on his face, "I'm happy to report that the Duke is breaking camp and seems to be preparing to move out. It appears as if we've won."

A spontaneous cheer rose up from the gathered men, which was taken up by the others in the castle. People began hugging and shaking hands, some danced. General elation at the unexpected turn soon overwhelmed every other concern.

"Good. But lets keep our vigil until he leaves," James replied, having to shout over the racket of celebration. "I believe the fights out of him but we must be certain. So we stay alert until the man leaves the shire." Then turning to the happy men he called out in a commanding voice, "all men to your posts. The rest of you to your duties."

Reluctantly everyone complied though most had little heart for the work. All wanted to celebrate their apparent victory.

The Baron, with Bronwyn in tow, almost danced into the breakfast room of the keep to eat. They were met by a solemn looking Sir Simon who held a rolled parchment in his hand.

"Simon, my boy, you missed the excitement," the Baron exclaimed, his face flushed with happiness, "by George we've done it or I guess more accurately Sir James has done it. The Duke's been beaten and he's packing up to leave."

"That is tremendous news Your Grace," Simon lied, "but I have grave news for you, news I am most sorry to share at this happy moment."

The declaration had the intended effect. Both father and daughter checked their elation and waited on the report from the nobleman.

"It appears as if we have been deceived and taken advantage of Your Grace," Simon stated. "There is one here who has presented himself in an inaccurate measure, whose very presence is a danger to us."

Lord Walter's face turned to one of surprise and confusion. "What do you mean Simon? What are you talking about?"

The scheming man took a breath as if to appear grave and upset. "I hate to be the bearer of this news but Sir James is not the man he presents himself to be."

"What do you mean? He's not a Hospitaler?"

"No, that's not it," Simon countered, being given the opening he sought. "There is a writ for his arrest from the Earl of Durham."

"That's impossible!" the Baron sputtered. "I heard no such thing. How do you know this?"

Simon handed the shocked man the parchment who then read it carefully, his face losing its joyful expression. To the delight of the nobleman Bronwyn then took it and turned pale herself.

"You see, a writ of arrest on this man for crimes against the Earl."

"But this writ is nearly three years old," the Baron countered instead of being aghast much to Simon's surprise. "How do we know it even holds anymore?"

"Indeed," Bronwyn interjected quickly, "nor do we even know the details from this. It's vague and gives few specifics of any alleged crime."

"Alleged? It's a writ from the Earl of Durham and there is no other document to counteract it," Simon pointed out. He felt the situation turning bad so had to press his point. "This man is a deceiver and potentially dangerous. Not only is he here under false pretenses but we also don't want to stand in the way of the Earl's justice. Something needs to be done about this."

"Done about this?" the Baron said incredulously. "At such a time? What should I do? And besides he's a man…"

"Who almost single-handedly saved this castle and all who are in it," Bronwyn finished her father's sentence testily.

"And saved my life I will add," Lord Walter added. "He is worthy of our praise and reward, not our censure."

"But the Earl," Simon tried to counter weakly.

"That's his business, not mine," the Baron retorted definitively.

"And how did you happen to come up with this writ by the way?" Bronwyn challenged the nobleman, her anger rising.

"Well…I obtained it from Vyncent," Simon stammered, trying to rescue the situation, "he is keeper of the records."

"And that is your contribution to the defense of this castle?" Bronwyn accused, cutting the man to the core.

"But something needs to be done," Simon pressed doggedly. "He could be dangerous."

"Dangerous only to you," Bronwyn spat out.

"Enough!" the Baron commanded, ending the squabbling. He looked at the ceiling of the room for a moment, as if contemplating the situation. "You were right to bring this to my attention Simon."

The man smiled, hoping the advantage was coming back to him.

"While I'm not certain how you coming to this information happened," Lord Walter continued, "it is of little consequence. Sir James has performed an invaluable service for this castle and for my family so regardless of what he may have done I will not allow this to influence our continued relationship. This is none of my concern, it is between him and the Earl so no action will be taken."

"But Lord Walter…" Simon began to protest.

"Nothing will be done about this," he countered firmly then added, "and this will not be mentioned to anyone. I strictly forbid it. Do I make myself very clear Sir Simon?"

The chastised nobleman nodded his head glumly.

"Good, then if you will excuse us, we would like to have our breakfast."

Summarily dismissed, Sir Simon of Ashington slunk from the room, tail between his legs.

Bronwyn glided giddily down the paneled hallway in the keep. A fresh report had just been relayed that the Duke continued to break camp and no movement had been made against the castle. The initial assessment of their victory seemed to be confirmed.

"Is it true Lady Bronwyn? Is it true that the bad men are leaving?"

The joyful woman stopped in mid-stride but spun around in a pirouette to face the petite Princess who had asked the anxious question.

"Yes, it seems to be Your Highness," Bronwyn answered happily.

"And I'm safe?" Rebekah asked eyes wide.

"You are perfectly safe from the bad men, as you have been the whole time with Sir James here," the lady of Heddon gushed.

"He's a good man, isn't he?"

"The best of men, or so I have been discovering."

"I like him," the Princess confirmed.

"So do I," Bronwyn confessed, spontaneously hugging the little girl.

The pair giggled and danced together in the hallway, the joy of the moment sweeping each into it.

"Ahem."

The revelry was broken by the appearance of a sour-faced Sir Simon. Ignoring the Princess, he requested, "May I have a word with you in private?"

Bronwyn hesitated, not wanting the pleasure of the moment to end but she also knew it would be gone anyway if the dark cloud from Ashington hung around. She would speak to him, it was time in fact to set the record straight anyway, high time.

For too long she'd put this off. If the siege was lifted then that could change many things and it was time for her to make certain things clear.

"Yes Simon, we need to talk," Bronwyn confirmed. Standing up she straightened her gown, patted the Princess on the shoulder and led the man away.

Entering her chamber Bronwyn sent her attendant away so they could speak in private but she left the door open.

"Simon, we need to talk," she announced gently. "Much has changed in our circumstances and so I wish to discuss our understanding of each other."

Simon closed the door with a slam then turned to face the woman with an angry look. "What was that all about this morning?" he began impatiently rather then address her statement. "I share important information and you begin to accuse me?"

"Well, how was it helpful to our situation?" Bronwyn retorted, her sympathy for the man suddenly eroding. "We've been under siege, our lives threatened, my father's subjects have died for this castle, others wounded, and this is what you bring us? An accusation against Sir James?"

"I am aware of our situation," Simon responded through gritted teeth. "I have shared in the risks."

"Shared?" Bronwyn exclaimed. "Shared? Have you once drawn your sword in defense of this place?"

The accusation stung the proud nobleman. Instead of answering the charge he snapped back, "Unlike Sir James."

"Exactly," she responded venom dripping.

"You've led me on this whole time you little tramp!" Simon exploded, grabbing her arm and pulling her to his contorted face. "How dare you make a mockery of me!"

"No, it's not like that," Bronwyn answered shakily. "Please Simon. Much has changed. Can't we talk about this?"

"I don't believe you!" he shrieked tightening his grip. "You've been using me the whole time!"

"Ouch, you're hurting me, please let go," Bronwyn pleaded, fear in her voice.

"Hurt? You don't know the meaning of pain," he sneered. "But you will, I assure you."

"Don't do this Simon, please," she begged. Seeing an animal rage in the man she panicked and yelled out, "Help me! Someone please help me!"

"Silence!" the nobleman thundered, slapping her across the face.

The door crashed open and the Hospitaler walked in.

"Take your hands off of her," James ordered firmly.

"This doesn't concern you priest, be gone," Simon spat back, strengthening his grip.

"I said let her go. You're not yourself. Go and calm down then you can talk," he tried to reason.

Instead of heeding the wise council the brash nobleman snarled and sprang at the Hospitaler, drawing a dagger to strike. James deftly slapped it away then hit the man with the back of his hand causing him to spin clumsily to the ground.

"How dare you!" he shouted in rage.

Before any could answer Simon of Ashington ran from the room in a huff.

James turned to Bronwyn, who had a stunned look on her face and a red mark on her delicate cheek. "Are you all right Milady?" he asked gently, instinctively moving towards her.

But before he could reach her, or she respond, the room exploded with people. Sir Walter stormed in with three sword-bearing guards, several attendants rushed in flying to the side of the dazed noblewoman. All went into an uproar as the situation was related. The Baron ordered Simon to be found. The ladies clucked around Bronwyn like hens and James was pushed from the situation and finally from the room.

Despite all the attention Bronwyn was given none stopped long enough to speak to the woman and see how she was doing. If they had they'd have seen that despite a sore wrist and stinging cheek, she had a smile on her face and in fact was better then she'd been in as long as she could remember. He'd come to her rescue.


	14. Chapter 13: treachery

Chapter 13: Treachery

The Duke's men pulled out before mid-afternoon. It was a ragged, demoralized column that withdrew from the neighborhood. The men on the walls rejoiced at the news and distractions were ample. Coinciding with the desire to celebrate, clouds blew in and rain pelted the area driving many in doors. Casks of ale were tapped to go along with the evening meal. It would be a welcome blow out after the tension of the past week. As a result, none saw a lone, cloaked figure slink out of the castle through a small, never-used door in the garden while this was going on.

The early evening sky was unusually dark with clouds hanging low and heavy. The light rain continued to pelt the ground, adding to the misery of those who marched away from the seat of the Baron of Heddon. The Duke's men shuffled wearily while the wounded limped along or lay strewn on the remnants of burnt-out wagons. Only a few were mounted, the rest on foot. They shambled along towards the south, a sad sight compared to the one that had set up camp a short distance away only days earlier. What had once been viewed as an easy trip to the north had turned into a disaster. Already, several had slipped away into the darkness, deserting their tyrannical master.

A commotion from the rear of the column caused an involuntary halt, a welcome respite from the relentless torment of late. A richly dressed man was dragged by an armored, pock-mark faced soldier who summarily tossed the thin nobleman to the soggy ground before the Duke of Lysander.

"Look sir, we snared a pretty little sparrow sneaking up on us," Griffon announced, dragging Sir Simon of Ashington to his feet then shaking him by the collar. "What should we do with him?"

The Duke, sitting on a horse not his own since his own fine roan had not been found was in a savage mood. "Have some sport with him then slit his throat," he snarled.

"No wait," Sir Simon cried out desperately. "I'm here to help you."

"Come on lads," Griffon declared, ignoring the desperate man, 'playtime."

"But I can get you into the castle," Simon screamed.

"Hold," the Duke ordered with a sense of interest. He leapt nimbly from the horse and moved like a predator towards the cowering man. With a growing smile the devious man demanded, "Tell me what you know."

The Hospitaler dined privately with his men that night. Though the conversation revolved around the recent siege and numerous aspects of it were recounted, each, James foremost, wondered what was next. There now seemed to be several paths available to tread for the man and his band.

But which one?

Wanting to be alone, James excused himself, allowing the men to enjoy their much deserved moment and slipped outside.

Walking towards the garden he spied the Princess and her elderly attendant standing in the archway looking forlorn at the weather. He reminded himself that the men had not been the only ones who had suffered through the blockade. This little girl, and all the non-combatants, had been cooped up in the castle, unable to move or enjoy their freedom, all the while trusting their fate to those who defended them, unable to do anything about it.

Trusting in him, since he'd led.

That thought gave the Hospitaler pause for consideration. Though only an instant he felt something long absent: compassion and a sense of obligation to those in his charge. It felt good, he admitted, to be needed again and be able to help those unable to help themselves. It reminded him of his time in Jerusalem. Long ago those ideals had driven him to his Order rather then to the accumulation of wealth so many of his friends had chosen. He regretted none of it.

The Princess saw him and waved enthusiastically, breaking his reflections. James sauntered over to the pair of women still in the archway.

"A fine night for a walk Your Highness," James declared playfully.

"It's raining out," Rebekah observed, crinkling her nose.

"You don't like rain?" James asked then added, "It's a warm night."

"Well, yes I do like the rain. But should a Princess do something like that?"

"Why not?" James asked, ignoring the scowl from her attendant at the comment. "Rain is God's way of not only replenishing the land but also cleaning it of its dirt, just like Jesus did for all of us on the cross."

James caught himself. He hadn't talked that way since he'd been with Balian. It felt good, natural. Again he became the teacher.

Rebekah smiled at the thought and nodded her head as if she understood the connection. Then pulling her cloak tight around her she stepped out to meet the man standing in the rain despite the protests of her matron-in-waiting.

The little girl tilted her head back so she looked straight up, allowing the gentle rain to tickle her face. A look of peace and serenity on the innocent girl caused James' heart to soar. If he hadn't stayed, if he'd kept on his selfish course, how different the picture would have been.

The pair then walked away from the keep and into the garden, moving closer to the shadows of the wall, without a care in the world. They talked of duty and honor, of service and the joy that comes from it. The conversation was totally uplifting for the Hospitaler until the little girl stopped suddenly and looked at him with penetrating eyes.

"I like Lady Bronwyn," Rebekah declared.

James wasn't sure what to say so held his tongue, looking away awkwardly.

"Do you like her?" she pressed.

James flinched at the innocent question. "Well, I…umh…well yes, she is a fine lady."

"Do you think she's pretty?"

"Well yes, she is very attractive," he had to admit.

"I think she's beautiful," the Princess replied. "She likes you, you know."

James choked and coughed involuntarily. "What?" Then regaining his composure he tried to move the conversation away from this uncomfortable one. "Come now, this is not fit for us to talk about. How are you fairing?"

"What are you afraid of?" the Princess asked seeing right through him, with wide eyes but no condemnation.

James was cut to the heart and found himself entirely defenseless against the innocent girl's question. "Many things," he admitted, voice breaking.

"Yet that hardly seems likely," she responded, screwing up her face in confusion. You are so brave and strong. What can you possibly be afraid of?"

"You'd be surprised Your Highness what a man is capable of being frightened by," the Hospitaler replied barely in a whisper.

The intelligent little girl pondered the thought for several moments, mulling it over in her mind. Then, a smile lit up her pretty face and she took the Hospitaler's hand in hers. "Then I will pray that you will be able to use the courage you already possess to overcome this problem."

Sir James Stewart, Knight Hospitaler, hero of the recent siege of Castle Heddon, chuckled, then bowed in surrender to the innocent statement and deep logic of it. She was entirely correct.

The two then walked hand-in-hand through the garden, each lost in the joy of the moment. One reveling in the security she felt, the other in the possibility of finally experiencing peace.

Dark figures slipped into the castle through the open door in the garden. A single guard lay with his throat cut as Griffon and a select group of his men snuck in heading to the main gate. Though James had ordered a full guard on the wall Simon, who had slithered back into the castle earlier, had gone around and encouraged most to leave. Since none felt any threat they needed little encouragement to leave their posts this wet evening. Everyone wanted to return to their normal life after the trying episode. The few who remained were silently killed.

Some of the men were drunk on drink provided by Simon or happy with the defeat of their attacker so were not on their guard. Little did they know the real risk they faced. If any had been vigilant they would have seen the figures stealing across the open ground even in the darkened night.

The Hospitaler and Rebekah walked through the garden blissfully enjoying the calm of the night, not being bothered by the intermittent rain. It almost felt cleansing. James even began to feel the tension that had been building in his neck ease since he'd agreed to stay and help disappear.

Almost.

The Hospitaler stopped suddenly. His instincts told him something wasn't right. He even unconsciously sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

"What is it?" Rebekah asked nervously.

"Shh!" James responded quietly. "I'm not sure."

Then his instincts were proven correct. Out of the shadows a group of men with weapons drawn approach stealthily. He looked about for an avenue of escape but quickly realized they were cut off.

"Stay behind me," he ordered Rebekah as he began to draw his sword.

But before the Hospitaler could fully take out his weapon or call out an alarm he was slammed savagely to the ground from behind.

"Oh, look who's here," Griffon declared in mock surprise, stepping on James, "the priest and the little girl. How quaint. We only need the wilting lady and the play will be complete."

Four men quickly surrounded the prostrate James and held him to the ground. He was totally defenseless. Griffon grabbed Rebekah who squealed in fright. "I knew it was you who attacked us last night. Clever move, I must admit. It would have worked if we didn't have some help. Well enough of that." The bodyguard tugged the Princess roughly away from the man.

"For the love of God, let the little girl go, James cried out desperately, struggling futilely against those who held him down. "She has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me."

"Love of God? Interesting choice of words, " Griffon sneered. "Idle sentiments priest. You see, the King of Navarre doesn't care if we get the girl alive or not. In fact he prefers her dead." Then the ugly man thought for a moment. "I guess she'll experience the love of God very soon since she's about to meet him."

James Stewart was taken back three plus years to the last time he'd felt this helpless and watched one dear to him suffer. A terror filled his heart like he'd never felt before. He'd pledged to never allow this to happen again while he lived and here it was right before his eyes. Despair filled him, the voices from his past that had called him failure and coward began to shout in his ears. It would be easy to go slack and allow his life also to be taken for surely he'd failed again. But then a spark lit which burst into an inferno, like a torch set to dry straw.

This time James Stewart fought back.

With a primal yell he bucked against the two holding his shoulders, smashing the back of his head into the face of one man, breaking his nose while kicking his leg free to slam his foot into the groin of one and breaking the knee of the other with a well placed blow. Suddenly free he rolled away from the fourth simultaneously picking up the sword of the one who staggered around with a broken nose. Slashing across the midsection of the last man that tried to subdue him he opened a crimson line across his chest.

"Let her go," James ordered now standing to face Griffon, "face me like a man."

Griffon smirked, and tightened his grip on Rebekah, bringing his sword up to threaten the little girl who looked wide-eyed at the Hospitaler.

Bronwyn took a deep breath. She'd heard from the Princess' attendant that she and Sir James were walking in the garden. There was no more time for half-measures. She needed to speak to him now before it was too late. Taking another breath to calm her beating heart and saying a quick prayer she stepped out of the door of the keep and into the courtyard.

The sight that greeted her caused a different form of fear. She could see armed men coming out of the garden area and moving to take the castle. A quick scan showed none of her father's men anywhere in sight. The lady panicked, preparing to run back into the keep, to put this behind her and let someone else deal with it. But then the example of the past few days hit her like a lightning bolt. The noble example of so many, James Stewart foremost compelled her to stop. What could she do?

Then she saw it. The pull cord for the castle alarm bell across the courtyard

Before Bronwyn could even think she was running towards it. Singular was her focus and the short expanse that she'd crossed a thousand times over the course of her life without a second thought seemed to take hours. A figure with sword drawn and a lecherous grin on his face stepped forward to stop her progress. Fear gave way to resolve and rather then stop the noblewoman lowered her shoulder and ran straight into the unsuspecting soldier. The wind collapsed out of his lungs with a whoosh and the two went down to the ground but Bronwyn rolled out of it coming up almost as fast as she went down to continue on. The cord was tantalizingly close when she heard several shouts from those she now instinctively knew to be the Duke of Lysander's men. How they'd gotten in she didn't know. What she did know was she had to ring that bell or everyone in the castle was doomed. Reaching the station, a slight breeze blew and the rope cord moved irritatingly from her grasp as she tried to pull it. Her fingers just reached it when she felt herself yanked backwards by the hair.

Malcolm and the rest of the Hospitaler's party walked idly back to their quarters in the keep after enjoying their evening meal. The conversation had been light but a pause had brought them back to the reality of where they were.

"What now?" one of the men asked.

"We go to bed you oaf and sleep off the ale," another replied, shoving the other merrily.

"No, I mean where do we go from here?"

The question sobered the others as they too wondered what the Hospitaler would do now that the siege was lifted. None had forgotten their original pledge and the mission they'd been on.

"What do you think Sir James will do now Malcolm?" one of the men asked.

"He'll do his duty," the master-of-arms responded evenly.

_CLANG CLANG CLANG_

The sound of a ringing bell interrupted their reflections.

"What the….," one confused man said.

"The alarm bell!" Malcolm shouted. "To me, we're under attack."

Malcolm and the men of Scotland along with Alric and a group of the Baron's men-at-arms spilled out of the keep and their barracks to face the shock of the Duke's men in the courtyard of the castle.

Both sides were unprepared for this development. The fight became desperate as the defenders sought to subdue those who had gained access to the castle while the attackers pressed to stem the tide of those opposing them and reach the main gate to let the rest of their force in. Rather then an organized battle it turned into an individual brawl with men fighting and clawing for the advantage.

"Hear that? It's the alarm," James noted back in the garden. "The castle is alerted, you've lost. Give it up."

At the realization the two other men with the Duke's bodyguard turned and ran into the darkness.

"Victory can be defined many ways priest," Griffon spat back, holding his ground. "I kill the girl and kill you I win."

James realized he couldn't talk the sinister man out of his brazen action. He had to strike fast and decisively, he'd only get one shot.

Griffon used the girl as a shield but the relative height difference made movement for the armored man awkward. The two moved about, feinting and probing but neither made a serious attempt. James held back not wanting to endanger the Princess, waiting for his opening, all the while reaching his free hand back to rest behind his cloak. For his part, Griffon became frustrated by his lack of movement holding the Princess so with a grunt he shifted his sword up to deliver the death blow to Rebekah.

James had his opening.

In one swift motion he drew a dagger from beneath his cloak and threw it. The razor sharp blade bit into the attacker's face digging in deeply. The Hospitaler followed up before the shrieking man could respond with a decisive sword thrust to the heart. Rebekah was safe in James' arms and being whisked away before the body even hit the ground.

"Heddon, to me!" Lord Walter shouted, waving his sword in the air to rally his men. With the Baron leading, the unorganized defenders began to unite and build a wall against the outmatched attackers. With Griffon engaged and the Duke outside the castle waiting for his men to lower the drawbridge and open the main gate those inside had no leadership. Between Malcolm, Alric and now the Baron the defenders of the castle quickly rallied and began to take the fight to the Duke's men. Seeing their advantage gone, and with little stomach for a straight-up fight, the attacker's surrendered en masse.

Men were dispatched throughout the castle to look for the entry point while the troop of archers and another group went to the gatehouse to harass the now fleeing Duke and his men. It was Alric's party that found James Stewart coming out of the garden, Princess Rebekah held safely in his free arm. Griffon's body was discovered along with the wounded men who were herded together with the rest now under guard.

Lord Walter, his sword red with blood, saw the Hospitaler lightly deposit the Princess with her attendant. Before she would allow herself to be whisked inside the little girl held the powerful man in a tight hug which he reciprocated. The Baron noticed the Hospitaler's shoulders convulse up and down as he sobbed. The noble found his own eyes filling with tears at the sight. The Princess was safe, each has fulfilled their pledge.

James turned and for his part observed the Baron of Heddon and his sword. He gave a nod of affirmation, knowing this man had changed. Lord Alfred would no longer allow anyone to threaten those in his charge and not know what to do. The Hospitaler instinctively knew his work was done.

The pair reunited, clasping hands and then embraced as warriors do. The Hospitaler surveyed the damage as wounded men were attended to.

"How did this happen?" James asked.

"I thought you knew," the Baron responded in surprise.

Turning to a group of prisoners, Lord Walter thundered, "How did you get in here?"

"It was that one sir," one of the Duke's men answered openly, pointing towards a slinking Sir Simon.

"By all that's holy," the Baron exploded, "arrest that man!"

Simon ran as fast as he could for the garden but it wasn't fast enough. Alric caught up then tackled him.

Filled with rage, Lord Walter didn't even want to look at the disgraced nobleman so ordered him to be taken to the dungeon for questioning later.

"Well that's an interesting development," Alric commented dryly as the Baron fumed.

"Who rang the alarm bell?" James asked, wanting to change the subject so the enraged noble could calm down.

Aye, that saved the day to be sure," Alric commented. "We were totally flatfooted until then."

"We assumed it was you since you were already outside," Malcolm commented, joining into the conversation.

"No, I was engaged in my own fight in the garden," James answered.

"Well then who did it?" the Baron asked, curiosity rising.

"Begging your pardon My Lord, it was the Lady Bronwyn who done it," one of the men-at-arms reported, coming into the crowd holding a bandage to his head.

"What?" all three exclaimed at the same time.

"Aye, I saw her. I'd been knocked in me head from behind and was in a bad way with one of these villains. She ran from the keep to the bell but not before she bowled over some poor sod who got in her way."

The others stood opened mouth at the unexpected declaration.

Enjoying the ability to tell the story, the grinning soldier then added, "That was nothing. You should have seen her knee the other unfortunate in the cod piece that made the mistake of grabbing her by the hair!"

Laughter broke out at the declaration and a mighty cheer filled the courtyard.

"Where is my daughter?" demanded the Baron. Then, in response to the ovation of the surrounding men, the lady of Castle Heddon answered the call, coming out of the gate keeper's post safe and sound. She smiled in embarrassment, clearly awkward with the attention, her transformation from what she once had been to what she was now complete.

"You did this great thing?" Lord Walter asked in amazement.

"I did what I could," Bronwyn answered quietly, shyly avoiding eye contact.

She then lifted her eyes to look only at James and the Hospitaler returned the stare. The cheering throng was suddenly far away and it was like they were the only two there.

"Bronwyn, you saved us…the Princess…this castle. All owed to you," James whispered incredulously.

"No more then we all owe you," she responded, eyes glistening. "I only did my part."

Their spontaneous attempt to embrace was interrupted as the throng of cheering people enveloped them.


	15. Chapter 14: another fork in the road

Chapter 14: Another fork in the road

The spontaneous celebration ended prematurely with a call from the gatehouse. "My Lord, riders approaching under a flag of truce."

For the first time in the siege it was Lord Walter who gave the commands. "To arms men! It could be a trick of the Duke. Be prepared for anything. Alric, see to the men. Sir James, if you would accompany me please."

The Hospitaler felt a surge of pride as the man confidently took charge anticipating and looking after every detail. Yes, much had changed.

Quickly mounting the steps to the platform they saw the Duke of Lysander, his shoulders slumped, between two of his men.

"What do you want?" the Baron of Heddon demanded.

The proud noble hesitated.

"Speak man, quickly lest I have my archers rain arrows down on you."

"I seek a parlay," the exhausted looking Duke answered, "that I might recoup my men you hold and have safe passage from the northlands."

Lord Walter was stunned at the declaration. "What should I do?" he asked the Hospitaler quietly, unprepared for the complete declaration of defeat from the feared foe.

"Let him in and speak with him," James responded. "He's been beaten. Be generous and show yourself to be the bigger man."

The Baron's face turned red with emotion and he opened his mouth to retort but then he thought about it for a moment, holding his tongue.

"Open the gates," he finally ordered. "You," he called to the Duke, "come in and meet me but alone."

With the Hospitaler standing silently at his side and Alric looking after the troops on the defensive, Lord Walter Fitzralph met with the man he'd feared for so long seeing him now as a slender, broken and hardly intimidating figure. With this new confidence he was able to accept the surrender of the man who so many throughout England had feared, extracting a payment for damages in gold and then even procuring a letter apologizing for his actions and denouncing the King of Navarre. Even James Stewart was surprised by how much the now vigorous Baron was able to achieve.

A humiliated Duke of Lysander not only slunk out of the castle but immediately withdrew from the district with the tattered remnants of his force despite the darkness of the night. The pragmatic man not only wanted to be as far away from the embarrassment of this venture as he could, more importantly he feared the already spreading news of his complete defeat would bring others onto the attack before he could return to the safety of his own castle in the south. He never looked back and would never return to the northlands.

After the exhilaration of the moment and inevitable memories of similar times spent with Balian, James walked in the garden. Despite being quite late, he couldn't sleep. He circled the spot where he'd fought with Griffon. Though the body had been removed a circle of blood still remained where the man had fallen. His emotions churned like a cauldron under a fire. The killing of a man in single combat always upset him; that was one thing. The threat to the Princess and then her rescue was another. But there was more, something underneath it all that had the strange, contradictory elements of pleasure and pain. He couldn't even whisper for fear of his insides exploding.

"I thought I'd find you here."

James turned to see Bronwyn standing near him. The sky had cleared as the storm passed allowing the light of the moon to reflect down onto the woman.

"Lady Bronwyn, I …."

"Please, don't say anything. I have something to give you." The woman glided over to the man, reached up and brought his head down to hers, kissing him on the lips ever so lightly. She stepped back, looking up at him, eyes wide. He took her into his arms in a tender embrace. The two held each other for several minutes, neither speaking, not wanting to ruin the moment.

The pair pulled back but still held onto each other's arms. Then Bronwyn said it.

"I love you."

"My Lady….Bronwyn….I," he stammered.

"Shhh," she said, putting her hand to his lips so he would stop talking. "This is my confession. I needed to share this with you but please, don't feel obligated to respond. I wanted….I needed you to know how I felt about you…feel about you….before….before…"

The woman couldn't finish the thought. Voice breaking, her eyes filled with tears. Then she pulled away and dashed from the garden crying.

"I love you too," James whispered to an empty garden.

Bronwyn ran without stopping straight to her father who had been enjoying a mug of ale with several of his men. Seeing his daughter in distress he quickly left the group and ushered the distraught woman into his study.

"What is it? What's the matter my dear?" he asked with concern.

"I love him father, I truly do, like no other man I've ever met before," Bronwyn choked out.

"Sir James?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Bronwyn's head bobbed up and down rapidly in agreement.

Lord Alfred placed a hand affectionately on his daughter's shoulder. He looked at the woman and saw his own dear wife in her features. He missed the woman terribly and knew this had clouded his raising of Bronwyn when her mother had died in his daughter's teens. "He's a fine man. I don't think I've known any finer," the man answered with a smile on his face. "You've made a wise choice in your affections."

"What should I do?" she asked in anguish.

The question griped his heart. He felt like he finally had his daughter back for the first time in years and now was about to give her away. "Do you know how he feels?"

"I'm not sure. He seems to have feelings for me but I treated him so badly when he first arrived, I fear how he sees me."

Lord Walter hugged his daughter. "You've done all that was within your control to amend that false impression. The rest is in his hands, and God's. I'm proud of you and so glad to see the changes in you of late."

Bronwyn felt the gentle rebuke and loved her father all the more for not saying what she deserved. She had been selfish and shallow, altogether horrid, but now that was past her. She was a different woman.

"What is to become of Sir Simon?" she asked, thinking of the one who had encouraged her vanity only to betray them all in the end. She shuddered as she thought what her life would have been if she'd followed her original fancy and married him.

"I'd like to hang him in the square at dawn," her father spat out, his face contorting with anger. Then he softened. "Not for now though, let him stew in the dungeon. I'll figure out what to do with him when it's convenient. We have more pleasant things to discuss."

Father and daughter, as close again as they'd ever been, talked and laughed as they had once done in the past long into the night.

James woke in a blind panic, gasping for breath, sweat drenching his body and bed despite the cool of night. The dream he'd had was as vivid as the day it happened. He was there again, watching his wife and daughter's murder. The nightmare was so real he could swear he smelled the smoke of the burning building. Though only a dream his anguished sobs filled the room even after he remembered where he was. Worse still, the look of hurt disappointment on the face of Jamila cut deep. He was sure it was disapproval of his feelings for Bronwyn and the unfulfilled pledge to his family. He even felt a sense of betrayal. He'd been clenching his fists so hard blood pooled in the palm of his hand from the pressure. Guilt welled up in him like bile. Shame consumed him for allowing feelings for another woman to build. He felt himself to be the vilest creature in the world, darkness again filled his world. _No_, he thought_, I can't deviate from the path. I stole some pleasure but that's not my course. I must carry on_.

He'd had a moment and that was all there was to be. Unable to sleep, he got up and began to dress with the forlorn movement of a condemned man.

James went to the stable and saddled his horse, ready to leave on his own. But even before the first strap had been cinched he filled with conviction that he couldn't leave without explanation. Instead, the Hospitaler went to the garden and sat on a stone bench. The place filled him with so many memories: of walks with the Princess and talks with Bronwyn. All were precious but now he felt tortured by them. He sat mentally flagellating himself feeling it a deserved punishment.

Finally, the sun began to rise and he heard the rooster crow. First James went to Lord Alfred and took his leave. The nobleman was generous in his praise and desire to reward the Hospitaler for his services but the man refused. The Baron then graciously wished him well and gave a standing invitation to return at any point. As James left he couldn't help but notice a small tear in the eye of the man and wondered if there was something more to his sad look then the departure of the savior of the keep.

The reaction of the Princess was not subtle. When he told her she began to cry, wrenching the man's heart. She flung herself into his arms and had to be pried away by her Matron-in-Waiting. Screaming in protest she was dragged back into her room leaving the stricken James to his misery.

It was now time to face Bronwyn.

Standing before the Lady of Heddon's chamber door he could hear her moving about so knew she was up. Twice he turned to walk away but knew he couldn't so finally wrapped lightly. One of her maids appeared to answer, giggling when she saw who it was. Bronwyn was there in an instant.

"I must speak to you Lady Bronwyn," he announced. "In private if we could."

With a radiant smile she took James by the hand leading him to a small receiving room on the other side of the carpeted hall. Closing the door so they would be alone she faced him, looking long and hard into his eyes.

"Bronwyn, I…." James began.

"Cannot return my love?" she answered, interpreting his stony look.

"No…"

Her face brightened.

"And yes," he added, causing her pretty face to fall, driving a dagger into his heart. "Its…it's complicated," he looked down at the floor. "My wife and daughter…"

"You feel disloyal to them for allowing yourself to have feelings for another?" Bronwyn answered without a hint of condemnation.

He loved her all the more for the declaration, making this all the more difficult.

Suddenly, feeling a desire to be free of the awful burden he'd been carrying he told her. "Bronwyn, you must know. I came to the south to kill the man responsible for the murder of my family. I was on my way the day I happened across your carriage. Though much has changed…my feelings…my circumstances…you…the Princess…," he finally broke out of his emotional drift and returned to a position of resolve. "I have to fulfill my pledge. I cannot live with myself…with the shame…of not avenging their deaths. I will kill the man and then die myself."

Rather than be repulsed at the bold declaration Bronwyn instead countered, "But how do you know? You're a great warrior."

"Because the man is the Earl of Durham."

The look of shock on Bronwyn's face was evident though she said nothing.

"And now that I've told you I'm in your hands," James correctly stated, wondering why he'd told her the truth yet feeling strangely unshackled. "You know my terrible secret and what I intend to do."

"I understand and I honor you for your commitment," Bronwyn responded instantly. "Your secret is safe with me, as is my love for you'" she added. "I will tell no one, not even my father. I do love you James Stewart, nothing changes. Whether you are able to reciprocate is between you and God but know that my love is constant."

James took her hand and kissed it then held it close. Their eyes met and they came together in a spontaneous embrace. Both had teary eyes when they broke.

"Thank you for changing my life," Bronwyn whispered.

"And thank you for helping me to find mine again," James responded.

They looked at each other, and then James wheeled about while Bronwyn fled to her chamber.

With the unsavory tasks of goodbye completed and fully clothed and ready for the road James prepared to leave the keep. He was surprised to see Malcolm along with the rest of his men standing similarly dressed and ready in the foyer.

Malcolm…gentlemen…I want to thank you for everything you've done. I…," James stammered.

"With all due respect sir, you can stick your thanks. Ye're not going without us," Malcolm retorted

"But much has changed…"

"Nothing has changed," the Scotsman responded emphatically. "You've made a pledge and we've pledged to you to see it through. We go together."

James Stewart nodded his head in agreement but said nothing, indeed nothing needed to be said. Theirs was a pact of brotherhood that had only grown stronger in the recent adversity. Though two had been slightly wounded in the recent siege, all were in good shape and ready for action, none hesitated.

Stepping outside into the morning sun the scene shocked all of the men from the north. The entire castle had turned out to say goodbye to the Hospitaler and his party. The Princess, recovered from her shock, gave James a bouquet of flowers and a kiss on the cheek and the others waved enthusiastically. Lord Walter thanked them again profusely, overcome with emotion and pledging to help them in the future if ever they asked. There was only one absent from the gathering and James was happy for that, feeling bad enough already. Bronwyn kept to her chamber, tears her companion in misery.

With a bang and a thud, the gates to the castle opened and the drawbridge was lowered allowing James Stewart and his men to continue on their forlorn quest to kill the Earl and avenge a murdered family.


	16. Chapter 15: closure

Chapter 15: Closure

The ride from Castle Heddon happened in silence. Though the morning was sunny and birds were even singing it was as if a dark cloud followed the small band. Traveling south then east the road to Durham was easy to find. Finally, that night as the group camped at the side of the road Malcolm came to speak to James.

"A hard thing leaving the castle it was for me, harder then I'd thought. I like that fat Baron and the people there. Alric and me, well we got along quite grand," he stated carefully.

The Hospitaler nodded his head in agreement but said nothing.

"It seems you got along well there too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James responded more sharply then he meant to.

"Listen, you did a good thing back there sir," Malcolm answered, ignoring the retort. "You know I was against it in the beginning but you were right. The Baron needed our help as did the girl."

James looked at him again.

"The Princess…she reminded me of your wee one. No, me and boys think you done right."

"But now what, right?" James asked correctly guessing the simple man's train of thought.

"Aye. It won't be long before we're to Durham. What's the plan going forward?"

"I don't know," James admitted, glad to have it off his chest. "So much seems cloudy now. I'm not certain…" His voice trailed off and he seemed far away but then snapped back. "We'll see what the lay of the land is and move based on what we find. But know this. I will not risk your lives…" Malcolm opened his mouth to protest but James held up a hand to silence the fiery Scotsman, "…beyond what's necessary. Once I've secured the entry I need to do what I must you're to leave immediately and ride hard for the north. On this I'll brook no opposition."

He then handed Malcolm a small satchel busting at the seams that jingled when the man took it.

"For your future," James added, again allowing no discussion.

For the remainder of the night the two sat together but spoke not again, each lost in silent contemplation.

Malcolm had predicted accurately. They arrived at Durham before any had thought. The area was painfully familiar to James. He and Malcolm had hidden themselves not far from where they waited for one of his men to do a reconnaissance. Looking around he remembered his intense anger and desire for revenge which now strangely didn't exist. For months, now years, he'd lived to return to this spot with a sword in hand and ability to strike a blow rather then sneak away as he'd done. Now, with it all in hand, the prospect held no satisfaction for him.

The return of his rider broke the melancholy thought process.

"The town lies not far down this road My Lord," the man reported. "The gates are open and the castle lies beyond but in reach. There seems to be no unusual activity and regular complement of guards. Nothing we can't handle sir."

James took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. He paused to think once more about what he was doing but it was as if an iron chain dragged him to this destiny. "Very well. We ride forward until challenged then adjust based on what happens. Our objective is to find the Earl and get to him right away. We move fast and strike hard then you leave me to do what needs to be done."

Malcolm and the others looked awkwardly at the man but each nodded in agreement, knowing how far to push the somber Hospitaler.

"For what I'm about to do Lord, please forgive me and do not hold it against my family…" James prayed quietly, "or those I hold dear," he added.

Then with a wave of the hand to advance the troop moved out onto the road to Durham.

The cathedral of Durham seemed to touch the sky, setting this critical northern city apart while the River Wear meandered happily along. All were lost on the Hospitaler and his party as they steeled themselves for whatever reception awaited them. Approaching the North Gate to the city they could see a group of guards who seemed to pay little attention to their approach. But as they got closer, one pointed to another and the group began to openly stare at the party. James nearly gave the order to charge, fearing the gates would be closed but the men-at-arms, instead of preparing for attack, seemed almost to look upon the men from the north with a sense of awe.

"What do we do?" Malcolm leaned over and asked James quietly.

"We keep riding until someone tells us to stop," he responded.

Already visible, the castle, though not at grand as the cathedral, was prominent further up the peninsula the town sat on at its center, a tempting target to ride hard too. But James kept his cool, passing through the gates into the outlying commercial center of the important northern seat.

Steadily riding along, not trying to make eye contact with any, the armed party expected to be challenged with each step but still nothing was said. But they were hardly unnoticed. All around people seemed to pay attention to the group. Some could be seen pointing and talking about them but none approached.

"Be wary of ambush," James ordered Malcolm and the others in a low tone. Already he was scanning the walls for signs of archers or crossbowman. But oddly no overt threat could be discerned.

Suddenly, they had passed up North Road onto the peninsula itself. The cathedral rose to the sky and the surrounding town green presented an altogether attractive picture. Several well-built buildings that seemed to be there for administrative purposes framed the picture. But what caught their attention was the keep just off to the side with surrounding wall. A pair of guards watched them carefully but none made any attempt to raise an alarm of impede them. It was an altogether unexpected circumstance.

"Well this is odd," Malcolm commented.

"I agree," a perplexed James responded. "I'd have thought we would have needed to lay low and approach by night. But now…"

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm going to present myself and ask for an audience with the Earl."

"Are you daft?" Malcolm shot back in shock.

"No," James responded with a wry smile since he himself wasn't sure of the answer, "but we've been observed and something tells me we've been recognized but not in the way I'd have expected. I'm willing to risk one throw. Better to move swiftly before any can respond then to melt away raising questions."

"It's your call," the faithful servant confirmed. "Are you ready men?"

All felt the same growing sense of urgency. Something unusual was happening and they meant to take it to their advantage.

Dismounting James strode over to the guards at the gate while his men did the same, keeping a close distance. The guards blocked the entrance but not aggressively. James almost drew his sword and attacked, seeing how close they were but another thought came to mind.

"A Hospitaler seeking an audience with the Earl, if you'd so kind as to let him know," James announced.

To his surprise one of the men scurried off with the message while the others looked at him and his men respectfully.

"I don't like this," Malcolm said quietly, leaning in so only James could hear.

"Nor do I. It doesn't seem right but I also don't sense a trap. Stay alert and we'll see where this takes us."

An elegantly dressed older man in rich livery bearing the device of the Earl of Durham walked purposefully up to party. "His Grace the Earl of Durham would be pleased to receive you sir. Your men may wait in the receiving room where they'll be refreshed and your horses looked after."

Malcolm flinched but James subtly waved him off.

"I am at the Duke's service and happy he will see me," the Hospitaler answered evenly. My men will wait where you wish."

The man turned gracefully and glided down a hallway with gilded columns, beckoning James and the others to follow.

"This is the moment. Malcolm, when you hear the commotion use the confusion it'll cause to slip away."

He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by James.

"No, don't even think it," the Hospitaler ordered. "This is my burden to bear. You've gotten me here and now it's up to me to end this. Thank you. You've been faithful throughout and none could have had a dearer friend. I will see you on the other side. May you enjoy peace and prosperity until then."

Malcolm, tears in his eyes, instead of taking the offered hand grabbed the Hospitaler and pulled him into a tight embrace causing several of the Earl's servants to look at them oddly. "Give me best to your family when you see them," he choked out.

Coming to a finely polished set of mahogany doors their guide bid them wait as he went in through a side door. The party nervously waited, noting several guards watching them cautiously. The double doors then opened and a doorman stood, in a shallow bow, to bid him enter as Malcolm and the others were led away.

The audience chamber was large, larger then James had expected and quite regal. He thought back to the King of Jerusalem's meeting room and the exquisite tapestries, sculptures and generally fine accouterment reminding him of it. How much had changed.

At the end of the room, on a slightly raised dais and sitting on an oversized chair that almost looked like a throne was a distinguished looking man James presumed was the Earl. Approaching he noticed a number of servants and administrators waiting for orders but oddly no guards. The Earl wore a practical suit of velvet but no armor or weapons. Instead he had a strangely kind face and smiled broadly at the approach of his guest.

Standing up to greet James the Earl's voice boomed, "Well met! The savior of my friend Walter Fitzralph come for a visit. How delightful!"

"You heard?" James responded in surprise.

Of course!" the Earl responded. "The whole north knows of your heroism and toasts your success," he added. "So tell me Hospitaler, what brings you here? I doubt it's to seek any acclaim or fortune for yourself. You don't strike me as that sort of man. Nor do I think you are looking for vengeance on the Duke. He is already sufficiently humiliated. So tell me then, why are you here? I must confess I've been dying to know ever since the guards on the city wall reported your approach to me."

James Stewart was stunned by the conversation. His head swam with contradictory thoughts. The welcome and praise caused his mind to churn sickeningly. Within his reach now stood the one thing that had kept him alive the last few years-the opportunity to kill this man. And yet now he wasn't sure.

Next it seemed as if the Hospitaler left his body and watched some strange man going through the motions. Slowly he began to draw his sword.

"My names is James Stewart of Jedburgh and I'm here to avenge the murder of my family by taking your life."

There was a shriek from one of the watching servants and a yell for help. James had the advantage and could have sprung, burying his sword into the chest of the defenseless man before him like he'd done with Griffon. His mind screamed at him to do it, to find the release and peace that would come by killing this man and yet he already knew peace and so he held. A look of shocked confusion on the Duke didn't help the matter.

Two doors burst open on either side of the platform and ten heavily armed men rushed in to place themselves between James and their master. At the same time there was a commotion at the end of the room and Malcolm and James' men came in also, wrestling with another group of guards.

As all this unfolded James knew he could still strike, he could run the man through before the guards took him down but something caused him to pause. It was the genuine look of surprise on the face of the Earl.

Then he was surrounded and being ordered to put his sword down. Two different soldiers barked at him anxiously to disarm, inching closer and preparing to strike if he didn't.

"Wait! Hold your hand."

The firm order of the Earl for his men to not continue their attempt to subdue the Hospitaler gave him his opening. He could still do it, fight through the guard and kill the man. But suddenly he wanted to hear what the Earl had to say.

"What is this all about?" the Earl asked in honest confusion. There was no anger or pretense in his voice or manner. He was the complete opposite, totally perplexed by the seemingly bizarre actions of his welcome guest.

"You killed my family," James sputtered, barely able to control his emotions.

"I did…what?" the Earl answered in shock.

"In Jedburgh...three years ago….my wife and daughter…murdered to take my land," James strangled voice answered, each word causing agony.

"But I've never been to Jedburgh before. Surely you're mistaken," the Earl answered the charge quietly.

"Not you…your envoy and your soldiers…my wife and daughter, burned before my eyes." James began to weep as the image filled his mind.

"Leave us," the nobleman ordered his soldiers along with Malcolm and the men from the north.

"But Your Grace…," the officer of his guard responded tentatively.

"LEAVE US!" the Earl thundered to the soldiers who began to move. Then to his elegantly dressed steward he ordered, "Find McAuley and bring him here."

For over an hour the Earl and the Hospitaler talked alone in the spacious audience chamber while the nobleman's guards traded menacing looks with Malcolm and the men from the north.

Then the outer door opened and the steward came in with a richly dressed man who Malcolm recognized immediately. "You!" he yelled leaping at the surprised man.

Three of the Earl's men and two of the northmen held the burly Scot back, finally wresting him to the ground.

The Earl's envoy, recovered from the initial shock called out to the Earl's men, "Captain, arrest this man. He is a wanted fugitive."

"I'm sorry sir. His Grace has ordered that none of these men are to be interfered with for now," the soldier responded awkwardly. "He says you're to go in right away."

The narrow faced man suddenly had a look of fear replace the sneer that had been there moments earlier. He began to inch back towards the door he'd come in from but the Captain of the Guard, sensing something was amiss, blocked the way. "The Earl's orders sir, you're to go in now."

Two other guards caught the intention of their officer and escorted the man to the mahogany doors and led him into the receiving chamber.

James and the Earl's conversation stopped at the sound of the door opening then the man in question being escorted in by several of the Earl's men. Though not bid enter the room, the other guards and the Hospitaler's men followed, all curious to see what would happen.

The sight of the man who had killed his family sent a shock wave through James. He screamed and lunged at the man, all restraint gone.

"Wait, please," the Earl desperately called out. None stood in the way of the charging Hospitaler, fearing to be caught up in his rage. The envoy, McAuley, yelped in fright. He tried to bolt for the door but was held in place by the Earl's men as James bore down on him.

"Wait, please. I want to know what happened," the Earl called out again just as James' blade was about to plunge into the crying man's chest.

And miraculously he stopped.

The Earl of Durham stood up and stepped off the dais, moving towards the pair of men and edgy guards surrounding them. He looked from the Hospitaler to his servant and then back again with a careful eye. He waved his guards back without saying a word. Though uncertain what to do they didn't hesitate in following the order so the three were left standing in the middle of the spacious room alone.

The most powerful man in the north of England again looked at the pair before him then looked up at the heavy oak beams on the ceiling as if deep in thought. Taking a finger he began to tap his chin reflectively. Finally drawing in a breath he spoke. "Mr. McAuley, this man is from Jedburgh in Scotland. He has made several serious allegations that I wish you to address."

The thin man's nervous look gave way to one of confidence. "I am at your service Your Grace, as I have always been."

"Good. This man says that not only did you seize his land in my name but also killed his family and brought him and his servant in chains to Durham. Speak man, is this true?"

McAuley hesitated, uncertain how to answer.

"Speak man or I turn him loose on you!" the Earl ordered.

"This is a shocking accusation Your Grace," McAuley answered, seeming to find his bearings. "Yes, I did acquire a parcel of property in that area, as were you wishes. You do remember don't you?"

"Why yes, I did but not by those means."

"And nor did you sir."

"Are you saying the accusations are false?" the Earl asked pointedly.

"Entirely," McAuley responded with an earnest look on his thin face.

James stiffened as if to attack the man and Malcolm called out, "You lying…"

"Silence!" the Earl commended. "Seize these men and ensure no other interruptions."

Instantly guards grabbed James, Malcolm and his men, pinning them in place. James regretted having not struck when he had the chance. It seemed like again he would be the victim of his trust as this nobleman turned back to his servant.

"So what happened?" the Earl asked.

"I made the offer, as instructed, but was rejected so returned here for further guidance from you," McAuley answered as the nobleman nodded his head as if he recalled what had happened. "When I returned and made your next generous offer an altercation took place and, regrettably, there was some loss of life."

James stiffened but said nothing, watching in horror as the truth of what happened was twisted before him by the crafty man.

"Go on," the Earl ordered. "Explain what you mean."

"This man," the envoy declared, pointing at the Hospitaler, "flew into a rage and attacked us. Several of your men were hurt in the struggle. When more of his people, including his wife, joined in we feared slaughter by these devilish Scotsmen so were forced to fight back. Regrettably, a number died in the fight, including his wife."

"And this is an accurate account?"

"Completely sir. Its validity can be attested by the Sheriff of Jedburgh who was privy to the whole sad affair. I had this man," he pointed at James again, "arrested to be brought before your justice but regrettably he escaped before this could happen. There's a full writ for his arrest lodged in your archives sir. Once this whole tragic event was ended, I arranged through the Sheriff to purchase the forfeit estate on your behalf. Again, the deed and purchase amount are lodged in your records.

"Liar!" James screamed, fighting against those who held him. "It was slaughter, initiated by you. None fought you, my wife and daughter especially. You burned them before my eyes."

"Quiet," the Earl ordered, "restrain and silence him."

Before the guard could put a gag in James' mouth he added, "You paid nothing for the land! Not only did you kill my family you stole the Earl's money."

Several of the guards flinched at the statement and the envoy suddenly seemed less confident. Though James was gagged the nobleman carefully looked around the room, seeming to be disturbed by what he'd heard.

"Does anyone else know about this matter?" he asked.

Malcolm looked at one of the guards he'd been talking with in the period before this situation began to unfolded, knowing he'd been there but never letting on. Now he looked hard at the man, staring at him, imploring him to speak. For his part, the man gulped, looking at the floor.

"It didn't happen that way," the soldier declared quietly.

McAuley made a move for the door but was stopped right away.

"Tell me everything," the Earl ordered.

The soldier then shared the whole story as it had actually happened, of the initial bullying tactics, the plan to seize the land and finally the unprovoked attack and killing of the family. James began to weep involuntarily as the truth finally came out and the barbarity of what had happened to him and his family was brought into the light. Though the confession had only taken ten minutes it felt like hours.

The Earl turned pale and began to visibly shake. His knees buckled and two of his servants had to help him back to his throne-like chair. For another ten minutes he sat, saying nothing, his head buried in his hands as James cried like he'd never done before. The truth had finally been revealed and at last he felt free.


	17. Chapter 16: Justice

Chapter 16: Justice

The emissary, McAuley, admitted everything. He confessed to the strong-arm tactics, which the Earl had never sanctioned, to the killing of James' family and even the stealing of the nobleman's money that had been sent to buy the land.

The Earl of Durham turned beet red at the report and flew into a rage when the defeated man finished. He bellowed to have McAuley placed in irons and thrown into the dungeon to await punishment.

The Hospitaler appeared calm and collected on the outside throughout the proceedings after finally controlling his weeping. But inside James himself was in turmoil as well. He'd been so certain he understood what had happened and what needed to be done. He'd been so sure the Earl of Durham was a wicked, vile man and the world would be a better place without him. That had been his sole reason for living these past few years until he'd stopped to help Bronwyn. Then for a few days he'd been like his old self, with purpose, serving and giving of himself.

But the Earl was none of those things.

The nobleman in fact had proved already to be not only compassionate but also a genuinely benevolent and caring leader.

No, McAuley's confession had totally undone James and now he didn't know what to think.

He wasn't the only one.

The Earl, still in a rage, ordered everyone out of the room so he might think by himself. Everyone, including the men from the north, scurried off to get out of the way. Less then ten minutes later a servant came to inform James and his men that they were requested to stay the night and that the full courtesies of the castle and town were being extended to them, compliments of the Earl. James was stunned by the generosity of the man considering he'd confessed not long ago to wanting to kill him. That was a noteworthy act of not only kindness but forgiveness.

After conferring with Malcolm, the men left to refresh themselves. The Hospitaler then went to find the castle's chapel for he had as much to consider as the nobleman did and much to seek forgiveness for himself.

The following morning James and his men were called to the Great Hall of the castle. The Hospitaler was surprised to see a number of knights and nobles had been gathered and sat in a gallery to the side. The Earl sat on another high-backed chair staring idly into the crowd though he did acknowledge James when he came in. At a wave of the powerful nobleman's hand McAuley was brought into the room in chains. The place fell silent.

"Mr. McAuley, your crimes have been grievous. I've discovered in my search other serious transgressions on your part beyond those you perpetrated in Jedburgh." He then began over the next half hour to detail and provide evidence of the ample offenses of his supposed trusted envoy. Extortion, theft, beatings and general thuggery destroyed the man's seemingly stellar reputation. It had all been a self-serving lie. Finally, when the evidence was exhausted, he pronounced, "for these crimes I sentence you to death."

McAuley gulped but said nothing. The once haughty man went pale and seemed small and humble.

The Earl looked at him with contempt. "I myself would cut off your head on the spot for all you've done to me, for how you have sullied my name. But there is another here who you have harmed far more grievously. I have looked to the Holy Bible for direction and have fixed on the verse of an eye for an eye. Therefore, in the name of the King I will give the honor of ending your miserable existence to Sir James of Jedburgh who I have restored to title and land, the same land you stole and the title you connived to strip from him. What say you Sir James?"

"I will enact the justice of the King," the Hospitaler responded without emotion.

James had longed for this moment, fantasized about it even, and now here it was. He drew his sword and walked slowly towards the cowering man. His flesh shouted out for vengeance. Yet another voice was speaking too.

_In the name of the King _

The phrasekept echoing in his mind. He served a different King, or had once anyway. The hours he'd spent in the chapel reminded him of that. What would this King demand in this situation?

McAuley, who had seemed so confident and certain now, began to whimper then cry. Suddenly he seemed like a little boy, far from imposing.

The Hospitaler came up beside the man, raising his great sword high above his head. Two strong guards held the man in place. The room fell into a hush of anticipation. McAuley screeched then fell to his knees.

"Please sir, for the love of God, don't do this!" he cried out.

"Silence you," the Earl ordered, "at least die like a man."

The razor sharp sword whistled through the air like lightning, ready to slice the man's head off but with an amazing show of strength and control stopped short though it did just break the skin, creating a clean, thin cut about four inches long.

"For the love of God and my family I spare you," James whispered.

Overcome by anxiety and fright, McAuley fainted and was allowed to fall to the ground in a heap. The room remained silent, stunned at the unexpected turn of events.

"You…you did not execute him," the Earl sputtered in stunned disbelief. "What is this all about? Finish him."

"No," James replied quietly, returning his sword to its sheath. "I'm finished with him."

"But justice demands death."

"That would be vengeance which satisfies nothing," James declared. "Justice has been served. The wicked crime has been revealed and this man's treachery has been exposed. His power to harm others has been stripped away." The Hospitaler heard his words and could barely believe he spoke them any more then the stunned Earl before him could. The words were coming from somewhere else, not from him, and yet he spoke then with a clear, rising voice. "Any more would make me no better then him. I will not go down that path."

Somehow, James Stewart knew that in the real Kingdom of Heaven Jamila and Rebekah were smiling, pleased by what he'd done, happy he was finally free from the burden he'd been carrying. His face lit up in a smile everyone in the room picked up.

"What then should I do with him?" a now confused Earl asked with a hint of reverence in his voice.

"This is Your Grace's affair. I'm finished with him. Thank you for your kindness in restoring my land and allowing me this opportunity. I'll never forget it," James answered, his spirits surprisingly rising.

The Earl of Durham chuckled, still in a state of shock, and then ordered the disgraced envoy revived. A bucket of slop water was brought from the scullery and unceremoniously dumped on the unconscious man who still didn't know how lucky he was to be alive. He choked and gasped as he came too then was hauled to his feet. The pain of his cut was evident on his surprised face and he took a handkerchief to stem the bleeding.

"I'm…," McAuley began.

"…lucky to be alive," the Earl finished for the man. You have Sir James to thank for that. You are fortunate he is more generous then I for my sentence was death."

McAuley gulped visibly and began to shiver.

"But I will follow his mark and example and so spare your life."

The man fell to his knees and began to grovel. "I thank you Your Grace. You are too kind. Please know I will make this up to you. I…"

"That does not mean I want to see your face ever again," the Earl interrupted. "You are therefore banished from this earldom and after I inform the King, from this land for the remainder of your life."

"Your Grace, you can't," a shocked McAuley implored. "What will I do?"

"I can and you will. You will have two hours to pack your things and then my Captain will escort you to the coast and ensure you are on a ship bound for the continent. If you ever return, you will wish this man had ended your life. Now go."

McAuley opened his mouth to protest but two sword-wielding guards encouraged him otherwise. Head hung low he slunk from the room to never return.

The Earl of Durham stood and brushed his hands on his jerkin, ceremoniously cleaning his hands of the sordid affair. He gazed about the room as if gauging the reaction of the assembled knights and nobles. What he saw seemed to satisfy him and his gaze finally rested on James Stewart. He still had an incredulous look on his face as he pondered the unusual man before him. But as the powerful noble pondered the incredible act of forgiveness he'd experienced the look turned to awe. With a note of admiration in his tone, the man asked, "Sir James, would you and your faithful men honor me by being guests for dinner?"

"The honor would be mine Your Grace," James replied, his head still swimming from what had happened. It was over, finally, and he still lived. Now what? He wasn't sure but James knew this much, as he gazed down at the black surcoat with white cross emblazoned in the center, the real Hospitaler, the one that had served faithfully in Jerusalem and had lived at peace with those around him was finally back.


	18. Chapter 17: fresh wind

Chapter 17: Fresh wind

After several surprisingly pleasant days in the Earl's company, James and his men prepared to return home. But would it ever be home again in the true sense?

The powerful nobleman reluctantly parted company with the Hospitaler, having grown quite fond of him in their time together. For his part, it reminded James of his time with Godfrey. Those were happy times.

Perhaps again.

Perhaps the Hospitaler, the advisor, the mentor, might return once more.

Malcolm and the men were saddled and ready to go, they had bags of fresh provisions and gifts from the Earl. They too were still in a state of shock as to what had just happened. Several had even gone to the chapel in their free time to consider how it had all come about and what it meant for them.

No, all the men from the north had much to consider.

Though Malcolm had been a flurry of activity he'd said little as the moment of departure had crept closer. James had not been the only one profoundly affected by the recent events. He'd never taken the time to think past the moment of confrontation with the Earl and now that it had turned out quite different the faithful servant was uncertain what the future held.

"We're ready to go sir," the squat, muscular man declared redundantly to James. "Give the order and we're off to home."

James looked north and breathed heavily then looked up into the heavens. He closed his eyes for a moment then opening them responded with a sly grin, "No, we take a different path today,"

The Hospitaler spurred his horse and rode off at a gallop.

Malcolm smiled like he hadn't done in years. "Come on lads," he yelled waving the others on, "let's not allow the man to ride alone."

Bronwyn kept to her chamber for the morning as she had done for days. She had no motivation, her state of mind confused at best and tormented at worst. She had given herself to another, finally and fully and while it seemed to be reciprocated it was unfulfilled. That was the bitterest of pills to swallow yet she didn't regret it. Now, the future was black and uncertain. Though the threat to her home was gone there seemed no purpose to life and nothing to live for.

This day would be like every other, one of going through the motions. She looked out the window, bathed in sunshine but felt none of it in her heart. Then she heard something that had the potential to change everything.

"Riders approaching from the east."

Her heart leapt, praying it would be the one thing she longed for.

"Its Sir James and his men!" the gate guard shouted in surprise.

Lady Bronwyn Fitzralph yelled herself but not in surprise. Hers was pure, unfettered joy. Tears filling her eyes, heart pounding, she ran, like she'd never done before, feet flying, first down the hall and then across the courtyard.

The Baron of Heddon was already there ordering the gate to be opened. The Hospitaler and his men trotted into the courtyard and those assembled broke into a spontaneous cheer.

James nimbly leapt from his horse to face the Baron, his daughter and those assembled who watched the scene.

"You're alive," Bronwyn cried out. Then to the surprise of James and approval of her father she flung herself into his arms, burying her head in his chest. "Thank the Lord! I never thought I'd see you again."

His response was instantaneous. Holding her closer, he buried his face into her thick mane of golden hair.

The men of the castle smiled at the scene, knowing the source of the misery the lady of the castle had faced of late. No one spoke, not wanting to break the magic of the moment.

"You came back," Bronwyn whispered, looking up at the man she now knew she loved more then anything.

"I couldn't stay away," he answered, unsure what to say, suddenly overwhelmed by the moment and its significance.

"But your family? The Earl?" she asked in confusion.

"Justice has been served and the Earl I now count as a friend."

Bronwyn's eyes went wide as saucers at the declaration. "Then you are…"

"Free?" he answered. "Yes I am, finally. Nothing holds me back." James, his eyes glistening, gently brushed a tear away from her cheek. "Much has changed but some things haven't. Bronwyn, I…I love you."

She choked at the words she thought she'd never hear, that she felt she didn't deserve, and broke into sobs of joy.

"And I believe now I can love you as you deserve, dear Bronwyn," he added, his own voice breaking.

He felt at peace, as if not only Jamila and Rebekah would approve, but were even happy for him that he could once more be the man he was destined to be.

The two hugged again. Then James broke the embrace and turned to the Baron. "My Lord, I have come to seek your permission to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage."

The thunderous ovation from those gathered and the look on the face of father and daughter gave him the answer he sought.

The next two days were a flurry of activity as the requested engagement was prepared to be formalized. The Baron called for a gathering in a week's time to announce the engagement and then plan the wedding. He even invited the Earl of Durham to attend.

James, Malcolm and the others were warmly greeted in their return. To mark the occasion a feast was held. The men were pleased to find out that Alric had been made Captain and held the title of Castle Champion, something that called for numerous rounds of ale to celebrate. The conniving Sir Simon was still sitting in the castle dungeon but when James explained his mission and what had happened with the Earl the Baron, taken by the imagery of it, banished the broken man from his sight, having him released to walk out of the district alone. None mourned his departure. Finally, after several days of celebrating, life began to return to normal in Castle Heddon.

Walking through the courtyard of the castle James and the Baron carried on like old friends. Again, the Hospitaler was reminded of Godfrey and the relationship he'd enjoyed. The happy nobleman seemed more and more like him every day. It was yet another pleasant surprise and welcome addition to the new path he was on.

Their revelry was about to be disturbed.

"A party of riders approach My Lord," a guard called down from one of the towers.

"Who are they?" the Baron called back, a bit irritated by the interruption.

"Unknown sir but," the guard paused a moment, "but they seem to be flying the flag of Navarre!"

Though stunned by the announcement Lord Walter hardly missed a beat. Fearing a renewal of the siege all had thought was finished he swung into action. "Captain Alric, beat to arms! This could be another attack."

Soldiers scrambled and James ran to grab his sword then join the others at the gatehouse. He was impressed that the garrison turned out in full arms, ready for battle in less then five minutes. Much had changed.

What they saw proved to be no threat but did raise the curiosity even of the lowest foot soldier. A group of six distinguished gentlemen, nobles by the look, and an escort of twenty soldiers sat waiting at the front gate.

Lord Walter puffed up the stairs in armor, ready for battle but one look below caused him to smile then laugh.

"Bertrand! What are you doing here?" he yelled out happily.

"Good Walter," the one who appeared to be the leader called back, "I have joyful news for you. The Pretender to the throne has been overthrown and is dead. We have come to take the Princess home and crown her Queen."

"What's going on?" James asked. "Who is this man?"

"This Sir James is Bertrand, the Count of Trevino, from Navarre and a dear friend of mine," the Baron replied then looking down below to the gate keeper he ordered, "Raise the drawbridge and open the doors, we have guests to welcome."

The somewhat portly man practically danced down the steps to meet the party from Navarre. He ordered his trumpeter to blow a flourish as they rode into the courtyard. Bertrand, the leader of the party, leapt from his saddle and the two laughed and embraced like school boys.

"It's so good to see you again Bertrand," the Baron declared.

"And you. I'd feared for the worst when we arrived and heard of the recent siege," the man stated honestly. "But you seem to be none the worse for wear."

The cheerful mood of the Baron turned melancholy. "Aye, we held. But the cost in lives lost was great."

The count looked away awkwardly. "Yours was a price you should not have had to pay. If only we'd had your courage to stand against the monster that seized the throne this would not have been necessary."

"Do not trouble yourself. I would do it again in an instant," the Baron responded confidently. "Where are my manners? Let's continue the conversation inside where we can be comfortable. Vyncent," he called to his steward, "refreshments in the Great Hall for our guests. See to their horses and set them up in the guest wing." With that, the Baron of Heddon threw open the doors to the keep and led the party inside.

"Where is she?" Bertrand asked eagerly. "Where is our Princess?" he asked before they could even get settled in the room.

"Bronwyn," Lord Walter called to his daughter who had joined them, "please go and bring Her Royal Highness here."

The room was abuzz with talk at the exciting turn of events. Mugs of ale and goblets of wine were brought out then in quick succession cheese, bread and meat. The volume grew with anticipation of the reunion of the young Princess and those who had come to retrieve her. Then, the room fell to a hush as Princess Rebekah, her Matron-in-Waiting and two servants entered the Great Hall. The men of Navarre immediately fell to their knees, bowing before the little girl who giggled at the attention but walked with a regal air and dignity beyond her years.

The men rose and to the surprise of those in the room, the Count walked over to the Princess' matron and bowed low and deep, holding it until the woman had him stand.

"It is good to see you again madam," he acknowledged, kissing her hand respectfully.

"What is this all about?" a confused Lord Walter declared, articulating what the others thought. "Who is this woman?"

"I am not a servant," the woman all had thought to be little more then a governess to the Princess replied with a clear voice, "but rather am Teresa de Leon, the Duchess of Pamplona and the Aunt of the Princess Rebekah." She looked around the room, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the turn of events. "I came here in disguise not only to look after the Princess but for my own safety. Lord Walter, I want to personally thank you for all you have done to not only protect our land's jewel but for the kindness and courtesy you have shown me, even though you didn't know me."

The Baron came forward. "It was my honor. The King was a good friend and his daughter has been a delight. So what happens now?"

"The Princess will return home and be crowned Queen. But the rule of the land will be a stewardship with Count Trevino, myself and these nobles leading the land until she is ready to rule."

"That makes sense though we will miss her."

A number of heads nodded at the statement. For her part, the Princess seemed sad at the report. In particular she looked hard at James, even giving him a small wave. He smiled broadly in return, giving her a wink.

"We heard of the attack and your brilliant defense after we arrived Lord Walter," the Count declared, taking over the conversation from the Duchess. "Truly, this whole conversation would be moot if not for all you did on behalf of the Princess. Allow me to add my thanks."

"As I said, it was my honor. But it was not I but this man who brought us through it," the Baron answered honestly, acknowledging James.

"Ah yes, the Hospitaler," the Duchess responded once again taking over the conversation. "Would you please come forward?"

James went to the woman and fell to one knee in homage. "My Lady, please forgive the disrespectful way I've talked to you in the past. I…"

She waved her hand for him to be silent. "Do not fret about this Sir Knight. You did not know who I was and acted always in an appropriate fashion. You have shown not only great bravery and skill in battle but also compassion and love towards my niece. You do care for her, don't you?"

James stood up and looked around awkwardly. The question disturbed him less then the idea of her going back to Navarre. "Yes, I do," he answered quietly.

"It is evident and is commendable," the Duchess stated. "But there is more to you then all this. You have wisdom and discernment, character traits greatly to be admired and valued. I understand you have been through much and I have no right to ask, but Sir, I would like to offer you the title of Protector of the Throne of Navarre and offer you the position of Captain of the Royal Guard and your men as bodyguards to Her Highness the soon to be crowned Queen.

James' mouth opened in shock as did the others around him. The Princess squealed with delight and ran over to spontaneously give him a hug.

Lord Walter cleared his throat awkwardly. "This is a great honor indeed, but this man has other things calling his attention," the Baron tried to get explain.

"Of course," the Duchess responded. "I would not be so presumptuous but I also know that he is eminently qualified and I would be remiss to give it to another before offering it to him."

James looked at the Princess, but to him she was still a little girl, fragile and vulnerable. Though the land had been restored he imagined there would still be threats and who would look after her? His heart was with Bronwyn but he'd pledged to never allow another to suffer when he could help it. The girl meant a great deal to him, he acknowledged, as did Bronwyn. Just when things seemed clear to him they became complex once more.

"I…I need time to consider your generous offer. I will tell you in the morning," James answered awkwardly.

The Hospitaler then turned and walked out of the room, oblivious to the buzz of excitement that erupted in his wake or the forlorn look of one whose eyes followed him out.

Later that evening, Bronwyn found James idly walking alone in the garden. Her heart beat up into her throat for again she knew she would lose the man she loved. Once she had pledged her affection and he'd left, she understood that. When he returned it was as if a gift from God had been presented to her.

Now this.

It was as if the divine was playing a cruel trick on her. He heard her approach and slowly turned to face her. He looked down at the ground, not making eye contact.

"You're leaving with her, aren't you?" Bronwyn asked rhetorically, knowing the answer already.

"I have too," James answered firmly. "Everyone is looking after the land but who will look after her? A Queen? She's a child. She deserves to have a childhood. I can't leave her alone to…I can't….," he stammered.

She walked up close and put her finger on his lips to silence him. "I know," her voice broke. "I do not hold you to your pledge to me. Though I would like nothing more then to be your wife, I couldn't live with myself if that dear girl were left unprotected."

James started, as if hit by a crossbow bolt. "Your feelings are unchanged?"

"Totally. I love you as I've loved no other."

James paused for a moment, saying nothing but deep in thought. Then, the mask of despair fell off and his face lit up like the morning sun. "Why does it have to be a choice?"

"What do you mean?" Bronwyn choked out, her heart beating harder.

"Well why does it have to be you or her?" James responded logically.

Bronwyn felt light headed, as if her legs would buckle at any moment. "Do you mean…"

"Yes, I do. Marry me Bronwyn and we'll go together to Navarre and watch Rebekah grow."

Bronwyn threw herself into his arms, the force almost knocking him over. Never had she been happier, or surer of anything. For his part, he felt his heart soar and a peace he'd not experienced in a long time envelope him.


	19. Epilogue: A new kingdom of heaven

Epilogue: A new kingdom of heaven

James looked over the ocean from the parapet of the castle wall he stood on and felt at peace. Despite the angry waves crashing into shore their attacks were repulsed by the solid rock base that formed the hill the castle stood upon. He considered this an appropriate illustration of his own life: the buffeting that he'd gone through and how in the end his faith has remained solid as a rock.

Queen Rebekah was visiting one of the royal castles in the land with her large entourage of advisors, retainers and servants. This was part of a grand tour to show herself to the people after her coronation and it had been going on for months now. But always, closest to her, Sir James Stewart watched quietly along with Malcolm and his men. There were no overt threats at this time but with politics and the ambitions of man that could change in an instant so the Hospitaler kept a vigilant guard. But there also were times of joy and play and the young, fatherless girl and the childless man had formed a bond of love that transcended position or politics.

The result was the happy girl Queen won over the hearts of her people and the land of Navarre, so long wracked by strife, knew peace.

Bronwyn came up beside James, joining him on the castle wall. Dreamily she slide her arm through his and put her head on his shoulder. For Bronwyn, this was a hope come true. How much had changed in less then a year and she now could thank God for the attack on her carriage which seemed so long ago. No, she was at peace, just like the land, discovering parts of her personality she never knew existed.

For each, it was a new and blissful adventure.

It had started on their wedding day. The event had been a gala affair. The Earl of Durham came bringing lavish gifts for the new couple. Princess Rebekah, still the future Queen of Navarre at the time, had insisted on being a flower girl, despite the protests of the Duchess. In the end, the strong-willed girl had her way, a foreshadowing of the powerful, instinctive leadership she would show in the years to come, and was radiant in a white gown as she came down the isle in the Great Room of Castle Heddon.

Her radiance was eclipsed only by Bronwyn, who shone like a star. The bride's beauty was evidently on display but something more shone that day, an inner attractiveness that radiated from the joy and tranquility in her own heart.

Malcolm cried through the whole service, unabashed and openly. None of the soldiers made sport of him or poked fun. They knew where the emotions had come from. He too had suffered much these past few years and to see his beloved master truly happy again gave him the release he needed. Malcolm was a new man from that day forward.

The Baron fairly burst at the seams in happiness for his daughter and with pride in his new son-in-law. That pride only grew with the arrival of an unexpected guest who came in time for the great event.

Balian, the Defender of Jerusalem, showed up the day before the wedding with his wife Sibylla and several of their children. Even the Earl of Durham was in awe of the legendary figure. Balian and James embraced and both cried freely with catharsis at the change of events. They spent much time together alone during the day. Once more James had the opportunity to be the mentor.

The Hospitaler took it all in yet had an air of serenity about him despite the whirlwind of activity. His mind drifted back to a small estate in Scotland which he would never see again. He'd sent a message to Father Callum directing the revenues to be used for the people of the parish and that the Earl's Factor was to stay on and continue to manage it for him.

No, he would never go there again.

It was a place where he'd once known peace and happiness but his future was no longer there. For the first time since that horrid event, he knew he would experience these elusive gifts again in the days ahead. There was no need to resurrect the past, the future was bright.

Standing on the parapet that day, James wore the colorful surcoat bearing the royal device of Navarre, fulfilling his charge as Protector of the Throne. He had formally left the Order of the Knights Hospitaler, trading in one surcoat for another, but in his heart he was, and always would be, the Hospitaler. His call was to serve and he continued to do that to the best of his ability.

"Feel this," Bronwyn announced, taking his hand and putting it on her protruding belly. "The baby's kicking."

Life anew, the kingdom of heaven had truly come.

THE END

Author's note: Thank you for reading my story. It's been my joy to share it with you these past few months. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, I would be honored if you would leave comments or share anything you experienced while reading it. In the New Year I will be starting a new project which I trust you will enjoy equally. May each of you find your own kingdom of heaven here on earth, available and attainable by all through the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ.

December 10, 2010


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